Twin Who Cried Wolf
by Sandra E
Summary: Well, we always knew Hermione would fall for a Weasley. Question is, which one?
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I so need a little silliness right now.

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Title: Twin Who Cried Wolf

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Author: Sandra

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Category: Humor.

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Spoilers: _Harry_ _Potter_ _and The_: _Philosopher_'_s_ _Stone_, _Chamber_ _of_ _Secrets_, _Prisoner_ _of_ _Azkaban_, _Goblet_ _of_ _Fire_.

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Rating: PG and rising, for extreme silliness and mild sexual overtones.

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Summary: Blackmailed into helping the Weasley twins, Hermione finds herself giving the Polyjuice Potion another go. Meanwhile, the Hogwarts ensemble is plagued by a stubborn love letter.

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Disclaimer: Don't own; would have Snape under bed by now, otherwise.

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Author's Note: I'm such a sheep. Baa.

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Feedback: Well, duh.

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Setting: Year Five, sans the Voldemort gloom.

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Crookshanks, the cat, sat up in his seat.

Pigwidgeon fluttered into the room with an excited hoot. The hyper little owl, which had on numerous occasions been mistaken for a fluffy Snitch and had been dealt with accordingly, zoomed around the room, flapping his wings. Occasionally, he would lose his footing and drop to the floor.

Crookshanks, Hermione Granger's overgrown cat, yawned and curled up, ignoring the overzealous little owl.

Pigwidgeon snapped his beak as if he were pouting, his hooting growing louder. A large letter, pink and tidy, was weighing him down. He eyed the cat with enthusiasm, looking about for the recipient whom the letter would soon belong to. However, he found none.

And Crookshanks was beginning to look mighty hungry.

Noisily, Pigwidgeon made a hasty beeline for the window.

Had he waited a minute or two longer, Ron Weasley and all his freckles would have walked through the door, but the impatient little owl flew straight across the Hogwarts grounds, headed for a small cottage.

Hagrid, the caretaker, who happened to have a peculiar affinity for behemoth creatures, hummed pleasantly. He had been tending to a particularly disagreeable skewrt—the sole survivor of last year's Care of Magical Creatures class. The skewrt, unofficially named Tiny, had had a rather bad dinner (Hagrid's final chair) and was snapping its jaw as Pigwidgeon tumbled through a narrow window.

The little owl gave a weak hoot and landed on Tiny's back.

The letter came off, and the skewrt spotted it ahead of Hagrid. Unfortunately, as blast ended skewrts are neither literate nor festive, Tiny's rear exploded, setting fire to the letter. Pigwidgeon screeched and promptly slumped to the floor.

"Got somethin' fer me, avya?" asked Hagrid, watching as Pigwidgeon tried one last maneuver. He hopped atop the letter, and his little tail caught fire.

"Oi! Bluddyell!" yelled Hagrid as he stomped out the fire.

The letter, once pink and tidy, was now charred and smelt like a hippogriff. The recipient's name and address were burned right off. The note within, however, was remarkably bright and shiny and covered in little hearts that danced around until they spelled out the following:

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In debating with myself the meanings of your recent glances, I have been put to a great agony; not knowing how to understand them, whether to my disadvantage as shown in some instances, or to my advantage in others._ I beseech you now with all my heart—let me know your whole mind as to the love between us; for necessity compels me to plague you for a reply, having been for more than a year now struck by the dart of love, and being uncertain either of failure or of finding a place in your heart and affection._

Even if you only love me with an ordinary love, I promise you not only love very remote from ordinary, but also to take you as my sole companion, casting off all others than yourself out of mind and affection, and to serve you only; begging you to make me a complete reply to this, my rude letter, as to how far and in what I can trust; and if it does not please you to reply in writing, to let me know of some place where I can have it by word of mouth, the which place I will seek out with all my heart. No more for fear of wearying you.

Written by the hand of that who would willingly remain yours always—

Here, the hearts became tired and sat down for a breather.

"Awroit," said Hagrid dazedly. "N'more whiskey for 'Agrid," he continued thickly. Tiny's rear exploded for emphasis.

Pigwidgeon hopped from one tiny foot to the other, hooting miserably.

"Righ' then," muttered Hagrid, the half-giant, and stuck his head in the water barrel.


	2. II

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Author's Note: The letter in the previous chapter is a mangled version of Henry VIII's love letter to his mistress.

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Viktor Krum's arm flew across the room.

Ron Weasley scowled nastily. "_Accio_!" Krum's arm rose up and floated past Neville Longbottom's head and Dean Thomas' homework. Deaf to the accompanying snickers, it landed in Ron's lap.

"_Fervefacio_!" said Ron with menace.

The plastic arm melted.

Harry Potter, who had been watching out of the corner of his eye, cleared his throat.

"You know," said Harry carefully, "I didn't realize you'd—er—learnt so many spells."

Ron didn't seem as if he were listening. "He can't even say her name properly, for Merlin's sake!" he said gloomily. A few third-year Gryffindors averted their eyes, tittering.

Harry stared at Ron. "I'm certain he'll learn—with... with time," he told him confidentially.

This didn't seem to improve Ron's mood.

Just as the remainder of Viktor Krum was about to become susceptible to a tragic fiery catastrophe, something small and gray sailed through the window. It dropped tiredly atop Neville ("Gereoff! Gerroff me!").

"Pig!" Ron jumped up and scooped up the tiny owl into his hands.

"What happened to him?" asked Harry as they towered over Pigwidgeon. "He looks worse than Errol."

Ron eyed his pet suspiciously. Then he spun on his heel. "Fred!"

Fred, who had been hunched over a long piece of parchment, hidden behind a chattering group of first-years, looked up. "What?"

"What did you do to Pig?"

Fred gave him a lopsided grin, "Didn't lay a finger or wand on him."

"But he looks like he's dying!" snarled Ron. Pigwidgeon nipped his finger guiltily and gave a quiet hoot. Ron didn't notice.

Fred grinned broadly. "Maybe Hermione borrowed him. You know, to—er, write a letter to Krum? Isn't he in Bulgaria? That's quite a distance as you know, Ron. I'm surprised the little guy made it back in one piece, even."

With that out of his system, Fred Weasley gripped his quill and scratched idly at his parchment.

Ron fumed for a moment and it looked to Harry as if Voldemort was a fluffy poodle compared.

"He's too—too _old_ for her!" Ron explained to no one in particular. Harry hoped Pigwidgeon wouldn't be smushed too horribly while Ron bounced around the Gryffindor Common Room.

"I suppose that's why she fancies him..." he said absentmindedly.

Ron was livid. "She doesn't fancy him! She—he—Bob's your uncle!"

Viktor Krum exploded.

Fred grinned.

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Hermione Granger tapped her thick book.

Ginny Weasley, seated next to Hermione, watched carefully.

It was a beautiful night.

At least it looked like it from the library window. Ginny sighed.

"How's the spell going?" she asked hopefully.

Hermione's brows were furrowed in concentration. "Terrible."

She offered no other explanation, so Ginny turned to her brother. George Weasley seemed to be working just as studiously as Hermione, but Ginny knew better. _Practical_ _Jokes_ _Made_ _Absurdly_ _Easy_ was opened in front of him.

"There," said Hermione, smiling happily. "That should do." She beamed at Ginny, and Ginny returned the sentiment.

"And Professor Binns won't check for Highlighting Charms?"

"Professor Binns doesn't even check if his students are alive," grinned Hermione. "I've caught him trying to administer an exam to Moaning Myrtle."

"Splendid!" said Ginny and hugged Hermione. "And I won't use this to cheat, I promise."

Hermione looked unconvinced, but nodded nonetheless. "Of course you won't," she said briskly. "But you really shouldn't have let your homework pile up like this, Ginny."

Ginny scowled. "But it's _so_ _much_ homework. I'm taking more classes than anyone in my year! How else will I catch up to you?"

Hermione seemed pleased. Then she frowned. "I wonder—wonder what would happen if someone were to perform an exorcism on Professor Binns," she mumbled. "After all—no ghost, no homework."

Too late did she realize that George Weasley, who had been scribbling untidy numbers onto a ratty piece of parchment, had heard her. There was a mad gleam in his eye, as if Christmas were coming early and bringing illegal fireworks with it.

Hermione flinched and buried her nose in _Hogwarts_, _A History_.

George scooted closer. "Hermione. Where have you been all my life?" The parchment lay forgotten. "Could you really do it, Hermione? This Monday, perhaps? Around noon-ish? When he's giving us that blasted history exam?"

"Er—George—" she blanched, eyeing him warily.

"Fred," he said with a grin.

"Okay, Fred—"

"No, I was kidding. I'm George."

"Look, _Weasley_, I don't care if you're the incarnation of Percy, just forget what I said!" Pinching her nose, Hermione scowled.

Ginny giggled, and Hermione shot her a glare.

"George, don't forget what _mum_ said," Ginny warned, grinning cheekily. George flushed slightly. If Hermione noticed, she didn't show it. "You're not to pick on Hermione."

Hermione wanted to ask why, but wisely decided not to.

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist, Ginny, I was simply paying young Miss Granger a compliment," said George with an air worthy of Percy Weasley. Then he gave the wickedest grin Hermione had ever seen.

Flustered, Hermione closed her book. "You—you should have studied, George," she said, prim and proper. "If you _had_, you wouldn't be here, plotting something as horrid as murdering Professor Binns."

"I'm just following your lead, Hermione," said George. "Besides, he's already dead."

Ginny giggled again, then covered her mouth when Hermione glared.

"George, you're going about it all wrong," said Ginny helpfully. "Hermione here knows at least a dozen ways that wouldn't end with you being expelled."

George's eyebrows shot up. "Like what?"

"Well," said Ginny thoughtfully, "there's always the Polyjuice Potion."

"Ginny!" sputtered Hermione.

"Well, there is!" Ginny stood up, putting distance between herself and Hermione. "You could find someone smart (like Hermione) and they could take the test for you."

As soon as the words rolled off her lips, Ginny regretted ever opening her mouth.

With a squeal, she shot out of the library, leaving behind a gaping Hermione and an excited George.


	3. III

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Author's Note: Excuse the short chapters, but sometimes quickies are better.

...you heard me!

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Hagrid, looking tired and edgy, stumbled into the Great Hall.

Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived to Eat, was sat at the Gryffindor table, flanked on each side by friends. Hagrid cleared his throat with determination and walked right up to a sleepy Ron Weasley.

"Mornin', Hagrid," yawned Ron.

"Er, mornin'," replied Hagrid, eyeing Harry. An extra seat appeared, and Hagrid sat down uncomfortably. Everyone was watching him expectantly. Hagrid, for his part, clutched the pink letter in his pocket and croaked out, "I need yer 'elp wit somethin', Harry."

Harry beamed. "What's the matter, Hagrid?"

Hagrid, for all his large stature, blanched, "I—er—" He looked around at all those freshly-scrubbed young faces and stammered. "ImwritingletterMadamMaximeelp."

Hermione and Ron blinked while Harry just raised his eyebrows.

"You want _what_ with Madame Maxime?" asked Harry loudly. A few forks clattered onto the table as students turned to look. Hermione kicked Harry's leg under the table.

"We'll be over to see you after Potions, Hagrid, I promise," whispered Hermione kindly.

Hagrid gave her a grateful glance and stomped away, hurrying past a suspicious-looking Professor McGonagall.

"What'd you hit me for?" asked Harry after Hagrid left.

"He's obviously going to, uh—" Hermione blushed, "ask Madame Maxime _something_." Off Ron and Harry's blank expressions, she shook her head haughtily. "Although, why he would want _your_ help," here she poked Harry, "is quite beyond me."

She would have most likely continued in this manner for an exceptionally long minute, but she spotted the Weasley twins approaching the table at full speed. She stammered an unintelligible excuse and ran for the exit, her robes billowing behind her.

Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes warily, a turkey drumstick stuck midair.

Fred and George Weasley, panting heavily, stopped by Harry and Ron. "Where's Hermione?" they asked with a delirious gleam in their eyes.

Ron's eyes narrowed to wrathful slits.

"Library, probably," offered Harry helpfully and Ron kicked his leg under the table.

"Professor Trelawney was right. Today's just not my day," muttered Harry as the twins dashed off after Hermione.

On the wooden chair where Hagrid had been sitting only moments before, sat a pink letter.

Ron saw it first and, with an exceptionally inattentive grunt, he picked the note up. He turned it over, looking for a name, and was about to open it when—

"Treacle pudding!"

He slapped the letter on the table and pushed it aside.

Lavender Brown, who had been sitting close by, eyed the letter curiously.

Ron had been too busy stuffing his face with food (roast beef, roast chicken, Yorkshire pudding, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes and mint humbugs) to notice the questioning glance she threw him. Once finished with the pudding, he reached for the bread and the hem of his sleeve caught the letter, propelling it into Lavender's lap.

Lavender blinked and unfolded the letter with raised eyebrows and a trembling chin. She read for a few moments, opening and closing her mouth rapidly, then squealed and clutched the pink note to her heart.

Ron, his mouth full of melting rolls, almost choked as Harry nudged him in the ribs.

"Why's she looking at you like that?"

Ron stopped chewing. Lavender Brown was staring at him quite strangely, with a peculiar, glazed-over look. Reluctantly, Ron pushed a breadbasket toward her, concluding she was simply hungry.

This only made Lavender squeal louder, cover her mouth, and bolt from the table.

Ron and Harry stared after her.

"I don't think people like the breakfast selection today, Harry."

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"No."

"Just this once!"

"No!"

"No one need know!"

"No!"

"You can have anything you want in exchange," said George. Hermione stopped walking. She clutched her books closer to her chest, and cocked her head.

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Anything?

"Since when do you care about your grades anyway?" she asked suspiciously.

George shrugged. He had just shoved a second-year Slytherin out of the library. Fred was guarding the exits and throwing disarming smiles at Madam Pince, who seemed deathly frightened with the prospect of _both_ Weasley twins in her quiet library. She had stuffed her pet cat under her desk ages ago.

"Apparently you need to graduate to open up a joke shop," said George as if he hadn't quite understood why.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. There had to be more to it. "And?" she pressed.

"And?" repeated Fred innocently. Madam Pince shushed him.

Hermione stuck out her chin snootily. "Well, if you hadn't gone around, stealing toilet seats and making explosive candy all the time—"

"—someone else would have," finished George. His lips curled into a grin and he whispered, "If you help us, I promise I won't tell Percy you fancy him more than you do Krum. Or Ron, for that matter."

Hermione blinked rapidly and dropped her notes. Her throat was suddenly rather dry. "I do not—clearly misunderstood—that is to say—completely missed the point, George!"

Madam Pince gave a loud sigh.

Fred ruffled Hermione's hair pleasantly.

"We'll take that as a yes," he went on smoothly. "What will you need for the potion?"


	4. IV

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Author's Note: Sorry about the lack of, you know, emotions, but it feels _really_ weird to write, "Hermione gazed lovingly into his beautiful, soulful eyes, drowning, soaked, _buried_ in love—he'd known then that he'd never leave her side again."

Er, no, bad. No. Ick, ew and bleh. I like angst as much as the next person, but sometimes you just _have_ to be silly.

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Lavender Brown had been swooning all day.

Parvati Patil was beginning to worry.

The clock on the wall and her wristwatch _both_ said _Time_ _For_ _Boys—Hurry Up_, but Lavender hadn't moved an inch. She still lay on her bed, staring dreamily at the ceiling.

The door to the dormitory slammed open and in came Hermione Granger.

"Insufferable!" she huffed.

She threw around a few books, wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, muttered a few ill-chosen curses and punched her defenseless pillow. Her blanket, which had had a Snub Hex put on it, complained loudly.

Parvati had been meaning to ask what was wrong, but Hermione seemed to be talking to herself.

Lavender was still staring at the ceiling. Briefly, she'd mumbled a "Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, Hermione!" as a greeting.

It was October.

"Prefect!" Hermione snapped and Parvati jumped up. Lavender didn't notice. "I'm a bloody _prefect_! They can't do this to me." Then she paled. "No, no, that won't work, that'll just remind them of—"

She ranted on for a few more minutes, then, with a stack of books and her wand, left. Parvati shook her head, cast one last glance at Lavender, who for all intents and purposes seemed to be under a _Petrificus_ _Totalus_ curse, and started for the exit.

On her way to the Gryffindor Common Room, she met Padma, her twin sister, who had a traditional Ravenclaw glower plastered all over her face.

"I've been looking all over for you!" said Padma disdainfully.

"That's nice," answered Parvati absentmindedly. "I'll be back in twenty minutes—I really need some fresh air and, possibly, Madam Pomfrey."

Padma stared blankly.

"Just wait for me in my room," Parvati told her.

Padma grunted unhappily, but climbed the staircase.

Inside the dormitory, Lavender Brown was dancing in the middle of the room, and upon seeing Padma, said cheerfully, "You know, I _knew_ this was going to happen. Professor Trelawney told me. 17th of October, she said, she did."

Then she twirled, and Padma couldn't help but ask, "What are you _on_ about?"

Lavender grinned broadly, "Oh, Parvati!" she said, practically floating across the room. Padma wanted to correct her, but Lavender continued, "I—I! Here," she shrieked and shoved something at Padma.

Padma gaped as Lavender left the room. She looked down. A letter, pink and abused-looking, stared back.

She slowly unfolded it and began to read.

After her initial shudder, she kept rereading the letter until her sister came back to the room.

"Parvati," said Padma slowly. "We have to talk about your friend."

Parvati raised her eyebrows. "Er, what about her?"

"Well, for one, she seems quite taken with you."

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Quidditch practice seemed more like Double Potions.

Lavender Brown sat next to Ron, staring at him with that glazed-over look, and helplessly, Ron kept offering her more food. Harry kept being knocked off his broom because Fred and George were too busy snickering at Ron to keep Bludgers away. Madam Hooch kept taking points from Gryffindor, and Padma Patil looked peculiarly aggressive.

Harry was glad when he'd been thrown off for the twentieth time, because Madam Pomfrey put an end to the practice.

Briefly, Harry thought he'd caught a glimpse of bushy hair being chased by two shocks of red hair, but talked himself into ignoring it.

He swallowed a Pepper-Up Potion and had a bite of chocolate, then waded over to Ron.

Lavender gave a sigh, Ron squirmed, and Harry rubbed his sore elbow.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Oh, where are you going, Ron?" asked Lavender quickly.

"Ah, we're—we're going to see a friend," said Ron uneasily, trying to put distance between them.

"Oh," she said somberly, but Parvati appeared and dragged her away, giggling. Harry turned to see Padma Patil shaking her head.

"Gryffindors," she said despondently.

To rest her case, Harry tripped on his broom and landed on top of her. She grunted, kicked and screamed, and eventually pushed him off. Harry tried desperately to detangle their robes, and felt something thin and papery fall between his fingers.

Padma stood up, brushed herself off with a frown, then stalked away.

For a frightening moment, Harry could have sworn he'd heard Lavender Brown shouting, "At Sir Cadogon's portrait, Ron! Eight tonight!"

He stood up shakily. "Ron, is it just me, or is everything today slightly, well—"

"Utterly insane?"

"Yes," said Harry, glancing at his hands.

"Harry, wait here for a moment, I think I see Fred touching Hermione," snarled Ron, oblivious to the pink letter Harry was now holding. "If I've told them once, I've told them a million tim—" Ron was muttering as he ran.

Harry winced, then heedfully opened the wrinkled letter.

Tiny hearts danced drowsily across the crinkled page, and Harry had to rub at his glasses more than once to assure himself he wasn't seeing things.

"—compels me to plague you for a reply—let me know of some place where I can have it by word of mouth," Harry read softly.

Once he finished reading, he refolded the letter neatly, and looked around in the direction Padma had left.

Hagrid would have to wait.

Harry Potter needed to go and ask his godfather for advice.

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"You do realize you're going to have to wait at least a month?" Hermione was asking.

George stared at her earnestly.

"And that by that time, your test will be _well_ over?" she continued wearily. She slumped against a tree, and rubbed her eyes. "And that—that..." she gave up.

It was no use. This was a Weasley, and she had better chances of getting a compliment from Snape than convincing a Weasley to forget a good rule-breaking idea.

"Look at it this way," said George gently, "if you have something of Krum's, we can force-feed the Polyjuice Potion to Ron."

Hermione choked. "Is this a family thing? Pick on Hermione and receive a get-out-of-jail-free card?"

George obviously had no idea what she was on about, but gave her a lopsided grin nonetheless. "So, you'll do it?"

Hermione looked up with exasperation. She brushed away a lock of hair and mumbled, "Might as well. Wouldn't want to break my streak."

"Which streak would that be?"

"Oh, the one where I do something against the rules every year to help a boy."

George snickered.

Hermione blushed. "That came out wrong."

"Good to know, though," said George evilly.

"Er—you—you're not supposed to pick on me," remembered Hermione.

George cringed and backed away slowly.

Something crossed her mind. "And why _is_ that, exactly?" she asked.

George gave her an innocent look and made to leave.

Hermione wouldn't have it. "You have to tell me," she smirked. "Or I'll ask your _mum_."

George Weasley gave a huge, fake sigh. "Mum's under the impression you'll be the next Mrs. Weasley."

Hermione wondered whether the ground beneath her would open up and swallow her whole any instant now—

"We're not supposed to scare you off, it seems," said George moodily, and scampered off.

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Er—_Mrs_. _Weasley_, Hermione thought.

She sincerely doubted she could survive that position.

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"I lost me letter!" cried Hagrid.

Tiny was dozing off near the fireplace. Fang was resting his head in Hermione's lap.

"What letter, Hagrid?" she asked. "And where are Ron and Harry?"

Hagrid seemed to only just notice her. "Hermione!"

"Yes, I am," she said patiently.

"Oh, doesn' matter 'nymore," blustered Hagrid. Tiny looked up and shifted a couple of inches closer. Hermione cleared her throat uneasily.

"What kind of help did you want with Madame Maxine, Hagrid?" she began.

Hagrid stopped pacing and went brick red.

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Snuffles, better known to the world as Sirius Black, was strolling the grounds.

A white, fluffy owl circled overhead. Hedwig, Harry Potter's proud owl, gave a pompous hoot and landed behind Snuffles with remarkable precision.

The large shaggy dog tilted his head, his black ears perking up. As dogs had little use for letters, Snuffles gave a soft whine and slowly shape-shifted. Where there had been muddy paws only moments before were now long thin fingers.

Sirius Black eyed the owl anxiously.

Wondering what bad, dangerous thing had befallen Harry this time, Sirius slowly took the crisp, white letter from Hedwig. His forehead furrowed in concentration, and he spoke in a low, worried voice, "You never bring good news, you know."

Hedwig gave an indignant hoot and nipped at Sirius' toe.

The note was short and messy, as if the author had little time to write. Sirius continued frowning, then, with a loud chortle, smacked his knees.

"Well, I'll be!" he said, laughing. "I was wondering when I'd have to talk to Harry about the birds and the bees."

Hedwig hooted impatiently.

"Oh, you again," said Sirius, still grinning. "Go on, shoo. I think I need to tackle this reply in person."

With one last chortle, Sirius Black became Snuffles, and Snuffles ran happily toward the Gryffindor Tower.

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The Fat Lady had been visiting a friend in the Hufflepuff Tower in hopes of catching a glimpse of the Fat Friar, so Harry had been sitting somberly in the corridor.

Neville Longbottom had passed him once, ten minutes ago, and the boys had shared an uncomfortable "Hullo."

Neville seemed to have been trying to sneak something in, but wouldn't let Harry in on the secret.

And now, Harry Potter was hugging his knees, alone in a cold corridor. He wanted very badly to be in the Common Room, talking into the fire.

Then, just when Harry had lost all feeling in his fingers, came a soft padding, somewhere to his left. Out of the dimly lit corridor, emerged a great black dog.

"Sirius!" shouted Harry, and the Fat Lady, who had been on her way back, squeaked and ran the other way.

"Hello, Harry," said Sirius as he shifted. He straightened, rubbed the kinks out of his neck, and gave a great, big grin. "Who's the lucky lady, godson dear?"

Harry blushed to the tips of his toes.

"It's Hermione, isn't it? I bet it's Hermione! I knew it, Harry, I really did," Sirius shouted loudly.

Mrs. Norris brushed against his leg and sneezed.

The Fat Lady cackled somewhere in the distance.

Harry banged his head on the wall.


	5. V

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Author's Note: Do you have any idea how hard it is to decide who poor, poor Hermione should be paired up with? So many boys to choose from. Lucky wench.

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"Rubbish," yawned Hermione.

"That's not the password, dear," said Lady Libra, who'd been dancing in the portrait that led to the Restricted Section.

"No, _boys_ are rubbish," said Hermione sleepily. Lady Libra nodded sympathetically. "Daft as a box of Christmas lights," continued Hermione, eyes half closed.

"_Life_ is like a box of Christmas lights," said Lady Libra thoughtfully, "you never know which one's going to work."

Hermione frowned, blinked, then stalked down the row.

She'd come back when Lady Libra wasn't drunk.

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Sirius Black had already appointed himself the godfather to any and all of Hermione and Harry's future children. He'd named the first boy James, the first girl Lily. The second son was doomed to go through life by the name of Sirius Jr. (or Snuffles, if Harry was feeling silly), and the fourth daughter would probably want to legally change her name somewhere down the road.

It was when Sirius had started listing names such as Neville and Draco, that Harry put his foot down.

"Sirius," Harry told him, "I don't plan on having a litter."

Sirius grinned and caught a glimpse of the Fat Lady. Her skirts were about to catch fire on one of the flaming torches.

"If you're quite finished eavesdropping," he called out to her, "could you let us in before you burn up?"

"I'd rather burn up than be clawed by your dirty paws! Pervert!" she called back.

Sirius snorted.

Harry looked mortified. "I have to live here, you know," he said, tugging at Sirius' robes.

"I never have any fun," said Sirius.

He shape-shifted and started chasing the Fat Lady around the corridor. She was screaming indignantly, but Harry thought he had seen her give a small smile.

Harry Potter, who would never, ever, so much as _look_ at another girl, sat back down and continued bumping his head against the wall.

"Eep," said the Fat Lady finally, panting.

Sirius came up to Harry and shifted again. "Don't worry, Harry," he said, "she can use the exercise."

Harry went red.

"I heard that!" said the Fat Lady shrilly.

"She could also do with a Spy Stop Charm."

"Still here!"

"And still not letting us in, are you?"

The Fat Lady actually giggled, batting her eyelashes at Sirius. Harry felt slightly nauseated. If this was growing up, he'd have nothing to do with it.

The Fat Lady turned her eyes to Harry, who was still sitting, pausing between thump and bump. "What's the password, dear?"

Harry gave a sigh of relief and made to get up.

A pink, haggard note wriggled itself out of Harry's robes, landing onto the stone ground.

Harry pushed himself up, but didn't feel the letter beneath his hands (as he had been preoccupied with the thought of losing his fingers to hypothermia). The hearts within the note gave a sigh of relief and rejoiced with a triumphant, tiny holler.

Just as the letter was getting ready to float down the hall in search of its rightful owner, a small, trembling hand seized it.

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Ginny Weasley, who had been humming an Irish lullaby softly to herself, stopped dead.

Harry Potter was leaving her a letter on the floor and being very obvious about it.

She raised her eyebrows questioningly and caught Harry's eye. Once he spotted her, Harry coughed violently, and Sirius Black, whom Ginny hadn't noticed thus far, patted him on the back.

She stared incredulously, but said nothing.

Harry pushed up his glasses and gave her a weak smile.

Ginny's little heart fluttered madly.

Harry Potter threw a goodbye over his shoulder ("Er—see ya, Ginny!"), and crawled through the portrait hole.

The Fat Lady cursed skittishly. With an impish grin, Sirius Black climbed in after Harry. The portrait swung shut behind them.

Ginny Weasley, as impatient as any of her brothers, bent down to inspect the thin pink leaflet on the ground. Her fingers worked around the edges as she attempted to open the letter, which gave a whiny yelp and remained stubbornly shut.

Ginny rubbed her chin in thought.

"Such a pretty letter," she cooed, "I wonder what Harry wrote. I've never gotten something _so_ pretty."

The letter gurgled sheepishly and the next moment, a very happy Ginny Weasley stood reading in the middle of an empty corridor.

Her eyes were adorably wide, her cheeks pink; her lips had curled in shock.

__

Ginny Weasley, beloved daughter, sister, and friend, her tombstone would say,_ died of shock on a beautiful October night_.

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Neville Longbottom had stumbled in front of Professor Snape.

Severus Snape, a thin man with sallow skin and a hooked nose, watched him with an air of suspicion. "Lost your toad again, Neville?" he asked. "Or were you perhaps late for dinner and had to _eat_ it?"

Neville straightened up and clutched the front of his robes. "I—er—no, Professor."

Professor Snape raised a cold eyebrow. "Where are you headed, Mr. Longbottom?"

Neville opened his mouth to reply, but Snape beat him to it. "Do not tell me; let me guess. Have you possibly been on your way to my office?"

Neville blanched and trembled, sinking into himself.

Snape's lips curled viciously. "Maybe you were attempting to steal—_steal_, Mr. Longbottom—a few jars of Bubotubor pus." He circled Neville like a shark, smiling coldly. "Maybe you could do with a weekend detention."

"Or maybe," said a cheerful voice, "young Mr. Longbottom was merely on his way to see me."

Professor Dumbledore, the bespectacled headmaster, clasped Neville's shoulder.

Snape frowned nastily.

"Neville is doing quite well in Herbology, you see," continued Dumbledore happily as Neville paled. "We were going to discuss your career plans, weren't we, Neville?"

Neville swallowed. "I—I got lost, Professor, and I couldn't remember the password to your office. The gargoyle kicked me."

Snape snorted, then composed himself. "Headmaster," he said, "I certainly hope you've looked into the terrible disappearance of Bubotubor pus."

"Oddment! Tweak!" replied Dumbledore.

Snape glared.

Trevor, Neville's toad, gave a loud _ribbit_ as if to say, "I agree!"

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George Wesley was tickling the south wall.

"Peter Pan Complex!" shouted someone behind him. George gave a start and turned around. An incriminating apple laughed behind him.

A slender finger was poking repeatedly into his chest. Hermione Granger, who looked as if she were on a dangerous mission, stood there, frowning.

"That's what it is," she said, as if she'd been rehearsing this numerous times before.

George tensed. A scheming Hermione was great. A Hermione scheming against George was—troubling.

"You don't want to ever grow up," she poked him again.

"What gave it away?" asked George lightheartedly.

Hermione scowled. "I'm going to change that," she said with determination.

"Er—change what?" George scooted away. The apple on the portrait yipped.

"Change you," said Hermione simply. A grin was spreading across her face. "I reckon it's only fair. If I have to suffer, so must you."

George was feeling for a way out. Finding none, he quickly tickled the pear, waited for the door to appear, and ran into the kitchen.

Hermione followed.

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"Dobby tell Winky!" trilled the house-elf. "Dobby say, 'Just you wait, Winky, just you wait!' So long has Dobby wanted to see this!"

The Winky in question merely hugged her butterbeer bottle with a miserable look.

George scratched his head. "Er—see what, Dobby?"

Hermione went to comfort Winky. Winky turned her back on Hermione.

"Why, Dobby always wanting to see George Weasley join Harry Potter's friend!" said Dobby happily.

George thought for a moment, then gave a horrified hiss, "Don't even joke about that, Dobby."

Dobby looked crestfallen. "George Weasley didn't join S-P-E-W, then?"

George panicked. "Don't let her hear you, for Merlin's sake!"

__

Her—Hermione Granger—had given up on comforting Winky and was passing a few scowling house-elves. Sneezy and Doc exchanged glances, then proudly stuck out their noses.

Hermione sighed.

She sat down at a wooden table and looked as miserable as Winky. Dobby offered her a yellow striped sock.

"No, thank you, Dobby," replied Hermione dejectedly. "But I do have something for you."

George watched as Hermione pulled out two mittens from her pocket. One was an ugly shade of green with waltzing giraffes, and the other a sickening orange with frowning sunflower seeds.

Dobby loved them. "Oh, Hermione Granger is as kind as Harry Potter! True friend, Dobby see now! True friend! Dobby get something for Hermione Granger!" And with that, he scampered away, returning with a golden dish full of pumpkin tarts.

George sat down next to Hermione.

Winky was looking at Dobby's new mittens. Reluctantly, she eyed the orange one until Dobby dangled it in front of her like bait. She gave a loud "Humpf!" and went back to the fire.

Hermione was watching Dopey, the house-elf that usually sent her warm water instead of cold juice. Dopey narrowed his eyes and balled up his little fists, so Hermione shook her head and concentrated on George Weasley.

"I'm not stupid, you know," she said delicately as Dopey glared from a distance. "I thought to myself, if you can blackmail me, surely there has to be something I could blackmail you about or into."

George grinned and offered her a pumpkin tart. She took it without thinking.

"So, I thought, what's the one thing th—wait a minute. Ton-Tongue Toffee?" she asked suspiciously.

George took a bite himself instead of answering. Hermione eyed the tart, then took a tentative lick. She waited a moment, then bit into it. George watched intently.

"I swear if anything swells, you'll be sporting a broomstick up your arse for weeks," said Hermione calmly.

George choked, wiped his mouth, and leaned on his palms. "You could do miracles for our side."

Hermione, who'd finished with her tart and was contemplating the baby carrots, looked taken aback. "Your side?"

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

"I'm not a Weasley," said Hermione furiously.

"Well, not yet, no."

Hermione threw a carrot at George, but it got lost amidst that red mane of his. "Listen here, George, I'm not going to marry Ron, for heaven's sake!"

George grinned. "Who's talking about Ron?"

Hermione sputtered, "But Percy isn't—I see what you're doing, George! It's not going to work. You are going to join S-P-E-W. And another thing—"

George merely nibbled on a carrot.

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Harry kept his head lowered at all times.

He could still hear someone cackling faintly in the background. Sirius didn't seem to notice. They climbed the spiral staircase, and Harry pushed open the door to his dormitory. Mercifully, it was empty.

Sirius lounged in Dean Thomas' chair, arms crossed behind his head. Harry sighed. Next time, he would just ask his mirror for fatherly advice.

The mirror shook its head no as if reading Harry's mind.

"If it's not Hermione, who is it? I was so sure it was her. I bet it is, but you're just too shy to say so," said Sirius, unable to keep a straight face.

Harry stammered for a moment, then calmed himself. "I was—er—talking, what's the word?, hypothetically."

Sirius snorted. "You know, your father was the same way. 'Hypothetically now, Sirius, if, say, Remus liked, say, er, Lily, should I—er, I mean, should _Remus_ ask her to Hogsmeade?'"

Harry listened intently, forgetting his own dilemma. Sirius' eyes sparkled. "So, let's hear this hypothetical question, Harry."

Harry cleared his throat. "Well, say Neville got a letter from a girl—"

"Good for Neville!" interrupted Sirius.

Harry paced. "Er, yes. So, Neville got a letter from this girl—"

"Does Neville like this girl?"

Harry paused. "Let's say that he likes **_a_** girl."

"But not this girl?"

"**_A_** girl."

Sirius chortled, tossing around Ron's pillow. The pillow gave an occasional "Wheee!"

"And Neville really doesn't know if he should do anything about it because—" Harry stopped pacing as Sirius jumped to his feet. He had grabbed Harry's quill and was scratching away.

"Don't—what are you doing?" asked Harry.

"I'm not doing anything," said Sirius. "_Neville's_ writing a letter."

Harry swallowed.

"Let me see the letter you—excuse me, Neville got," said Sirius with a grin.

Harry felt dread descending upon him, but complied and stuck his hand in his robes, searching.

After a short moment, his eyes widened and the blood drained from his face.

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"Oi! Watch where you're going, sonny!" rasped Sir Peritwinkle, who had been having a pleasant nap near the Fat Lady's portrait. A tiny owl was perched in his beard, hooting angrily at a manic-looking Fred Weasley.

Fred ignored them and shouted, "Doolally." The Fat Lady recoiled in horror, covering her ears, but allowed him to pass regardless.

Once inside the Gryffindor Common Room, Fred looked about frantically. Just his luck—the room seemed to be deserted. Well, almost. In a secluded little corner, sat Ginny Weasley.

"My favorite sister!" exclaimed Fred merrily.

Ginny stopped gazing at whatever it was she had been staring at, and looked up. "I'm your _only_ sister, Fred."

"Aw, you'd be my favorite anyway."

Ginny bit her lip. "Okay, what'd you break this time?"

Fred beamed. "Nothing yet. Give me time."

"So, what is it? Set fire to Dumbledore's beard?"

"No, but thanks for the idea."

"Er—no, no, you pretending we've never met is thanks enough, Fred."

Fred's grin grew larger. "C'mon, little bit, you're getting closer. Two more."

Ginny sighed, and pocketed a pink letter. She leaned back in her chair, and tilted her head. "You're actually George and the real Fred is behind me with some horrid potion that is sure to make me grow an extra head?"

"Still working on that," replied George. "One more and if you don't get it, I'm afraid I'll have to resort to calling Harry in to help you. You always seem to concentrate better when he's around."

Ginny flushed and threw a murderous glance at her brother. "I know a few secrets myself, Fred," she warned.

"Spoilsport."

Ginny smiled artlessly. "I give. You invented something that will get the whole Weasley family banned from Hogwarts."

"I wish!" Fred grabbed a chair, sat astride it and laid out a variety of tiny marbles. "Eat one."

Ginny snorted. "Fred, I assure you, mum would notice me missing quite soon."

"It's just Super Sticky Stew Glue, you coward," said Fred sulkily. "I was going to test it on George, but he's never around lately."

Ginny cleared her throat.

George had been standing near the exit. Hermione Granger, her feet dangling a few feet from the ground, was nestled into his arms.

"She fell asleep in the kitchen," George explained calmly, but his cheeks were as red as his hair.

Ginny gave a great, big "Aww!"

Fred blinked wildly.

George slowly lowered Hermione to the ground, but she was still leaning against him.

"There _is_ no page 1572 of _Hogwarts_, _A History_—it's a myth," she mumbled sleepily.

"Is she—is she studying in her _sleep_?" asked a wide-eyed Fred.

Ginny giggled.


	6. VI

****

Author's Note: This one is even sillier than usual. Sorry about that. Sugar's my defense.

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"Just a few more minutes," whined Lavender Brown.

Parvati Patil rubbed her eyes sleepily. "You said that two hours ago. He's not coming."

Lavender looked miserable. "Maybe he—he got lost. You know how boys are, never stopping to ask for directions."

Parvati wrinkled her nose. The armored knight in the corner opposite them swayed drunkenly. "Perhaps you're going about this all wrong," said Parvati slowly.

Lavender looked up. "Hmm? What'd you mean?"

"Well, if he could write a letter like that—which, by the way, my sister's reporting to my parents, thankyouverymuch—why can't he just walk up to you, sweep you off your feet, and whisk you away to some enchanted, er, snogging place?"

Lavender's eyes glazed over. "Because he's shy."

Parvati narrowed her eyes. "He's not shy, he's just thick!"

"That, too," said Lavender. "Well, Miss Ingenuity, what do _you_ recommend I do?"

Parvati thought for a moment. "Well—we could always start a petition—"

"Er—" Lavender blushed. "Who'd sign it? _What_ would I _say_? Please sign this, Professor Snape, it will force Ron to snog with me? He'd make me drink a coma-inducing potion."

Parvati glared. "No, silly," she said with exasperation, "a petition for a new ball. Like the Yule one, but without the, you know, bad stuff. I'm sure every girl in Hogwarts would worship at our feet. Besides, Dumbledore is always looking for an excuse to have a feast."

Lavender blinked a few times, squealed, then hugged Parvati tightly. "That's genius! _You're_ a genius!" she clapped, then frowned. "One problem, though."

"Yes?"

"If I ignore his letter now, he might ask Hermione to the ball!" cried Lavender.

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Sir Cadogan had left his portrait in search of one Ron Weasley, who had apparently been late for a meeting with a lady.

After listening to the young Gryffindor lady in question—for well over an hour, at that—he had decided that Ron Weasley had exhibited extraordinarily uncouth behavior and deserved to be challenged to a duel.

Also, Sir Cadogan needed a definite break. His little ears were bleeding.

His fat pony was trailing behind nonchalantly. Together, they'd searched two floors, passing by a screaming Fat Lady and a black dog—yes, Harry Potter had been there, too, banging his head on the wall—and one of the Weasley boys—they all looked alike to Sir Cadogan.

And finally, after managing to accidentally insult Lady Libra's dancing techniques—she had been quite drunk, after all, and had fallen head first into a portrait of the bottomless pit—the gray pony and the tiny knight found what they'd been looking for.

"Draw, you rogue, you _dog_, you _villain_!" Sir Cadogan shouted, his tinny voice echoing through the deserted library. His pony simply began grazing.

Ron Weasley jumped, then rolled his eyes.

"Ye scurvy braggart! What happened to a gentleman's punctuality?" asked Sir Cadogan, brandishing his sword violently.

Ron looked nonplussed.

"To affront a lady's honor so! The indignity! The outrage! Fight like a man, you grisly worm!"

"What lady?" asked Ron without interest. He seemed to be looking around for something, his forehead crinkled with concentration, his eyes narrowed.

"Draw, I said!" continued Sir Cadogan. He swung his sword a little too quickly and toppled over.

Ron didn't even spare him a glance. "That's nice. You didn't happen to see any of my brothers around, did you?" he asked absentmindedly, cracking his knuckles.

Sir Cadogan wiped his forehead, and pulled himself up by his pony's tail. "I've challenged you to a duel, sir. Be of daring heart and accept! I must protect the lady's honor!"

Ron glanced at the empty rows, his expression darkening. Sir Cadogan attempted to poke him with his sword, but tripped over a tree bark. His pony snickered.

"I'm going to have to—er, borrow the Marauder's map, then, I reckon," said Ron thoughtfully. He turned to Sir Cadogan with an innocent look. "You loiter about—you ought to know the password to Dumbledore's office, eh?"

Sir Cadogan wielded his sword furiously. "Duplicitousness and larceny in addition to your ungentleman-like conduct! A true villain!"

Ron sighed. "You're of no help, as usual. I'll just get it out of Hagrid, then," he said and stalked away.

Sir Cadogan was too tired to follow.

He'd have no other choice but to return to his portrait. And the chattering Gryffindors.

The fat pony whinnied.

Sir Cadogan agreed.

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"I don't know who to pity more," said Pansy Parkinson airily. "Him for going after a mudblood, or her for being able to stand such a worthless boy."

The Slytherin Common Room erupted with laughter.

Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, smirked. "It is a waste to bestow pity on such inbred objects."

"You're right, as always," cooed Pansy. "I wonder how we will be able to stand them much longer."

"I sincerely doubt we shall have to." Draco gave a subtle nod.

All eyes turned to him.

He smirked, crossed his arms, and leaned against the cold wall.

Pansy all but swooned.

"I happen to have a perfect plan to rid us of those irritating Gryffindors," began Draco with a smirk. "We'll start with the mudblood."

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Violent Veela, Ron's alarm clock, growled.

Ron turned over and squinted. 'Twenty to Yummy Breakfast, Romeo,' the clock read.

Ron buried his head in the pillow.

"Rise and shine," said the clock slyly. Ron waved his hand in the air weakly, his head still buried in the pillow, which was snoring softly. Violent Veela narrowed her eyes as another three minutes ticked away. "Get up, ickle Ronniekins," she said with slight irritation.

Ron mumbled and pulled the covers over his head.

Three seconds later, after gathering momentum, Violent Veela screeched shrilly.

Every boy in the dormitory fell off his respective bed with a thud.

"I'm up, I'm up!" Ron grumbled, rubbing his sore behind. "Why'd I ever get you anyway?" he asked pointedly.

Violent Veela gave a bewitching smile. Ron mellowed.

"Where were you last night?" asked Harry, who had been trying to find two matching socks.

Ron yawned, sat up and stretched. "Parallel dimension, it would seem."

Harry looked up, eyebrows raised. "Eh?"

"Not an _actual_ parallel dimension, Harry. That's 7th year stuff, according to Hermione. Speaking of our ever-elusive best friend—"

"I haven't seen her!" said Harry quickly.

Ron frowned. "What? No, I know, Harry, I saw you with Sirius—I'll need his help later, by the way—but I was going to ask if you thought she's been acting, well..."

"Like a girl?"

Ron flinched. "I haven't been imagining it, then."

Harry pulled on a brown sock, sighed with resignation and reached for a black one. "No, no, she's still a girl. And did you notice how many girls Hogwarts has got? I've never noticed before. Girls in Hogwarts. Hogwarts full of girls," he said, bewildered.

Ron grinned, then spotted Neville snooping around his book pile.

"What're you doing, Neville?" asked Harry with interest.

Neville coughed violently. "I—uh—nuthin'."

He scampered off, and Harry looked after him suspiciously.

"So, are you going to ask Hermione out before she marries Viktor?" asked Harry, trying not to look at Neville digging through Dean Thomas' trunk.

Ron choked, spluttered, and hit Harry over the head with a shoe.

Lee Jordan, who had been searching the dorms for his broom polishing kit, raised his eyebrows curiously.

Then he ran off to meet the Weasley twins for a pre-breakfast breakfast.

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Hermione had been pink in the face for hours.

Lying awake, she'd clutched to her covers frantically, until Parvati made her get out of bed. Briefly, Hermione noticed that Lavender Brown was shooting her scathing looks.

Crookshanks had been ignoring her, as well. Her tie had wrinkles, and the necklace her grandmother had given her had broken. She'd attempted to brush her hair, but the comb bent in two. Her toothbrush had developed an attitude and hidden in a jar of soap.

And still, Lavender Brown looked unsympathetic.

Hermione Granger dressed dejectedly.

"Keep your pecker up!" said the mirror.

Hermione's chin quivered.

"Not ready yet?" Ginny Weasley poked her head in.

Hermione's face went another shade of pink.

Lavender and Parvati noticed.

Ginny giggled and padded into the dormitory. "Oh, Hermione, are you still upset about last night?" she asked giddily.

Hermione fumbled with her last button. "I'm a _prefect_, Ginny! Lord knows how many people saw—_that_."

Lavender's ears perked up.

"Saw what?" asked Parvati.

Even the mirror looked interested.

"Nothing!" said Hermione quickly.

Ginny smiled broadly. "Hermione made a certain Weasley—" she began, but Hermione lunged at her, tackling her to the bed.

"Ginny, I swear, I'll tell Harry about you naming your pillow after him!" Hermione was shouting, red as a tomato.

Lavender and Parvati exchanged looks.

"You made Ron do what, Hermione?" asked Lavender anxiously.

Hermione let go of Ginny, who was giggling madly, and stood up, straightening her robes. A chagrined frown marred her face. "I didn't make Ron do anything."

Lavender looked crestfallen, plopping onto the nearest bed with a melodramatic wail.

"Dead right! It was _George_! She made George carry her like in a Muggle romance novel!" Ginny snickered and bolted for the door.

Hermione opened her mouth but no sound came out. She stared after the quickly retreating Ginny, looking as lost as she was adorable.

But her day had actually picked up right there.

"George?" shrieked Lavender and Parvati simultaneously.

Before Hermione knew what was happening, Lavender Brown was hugging the stuffing out of her.

"Oh, Hermione, you're the best friend, ever!" said Lavender. Parvati cleared her throat. "After my precious Parvati, of course!" added Lavender quickly.

"What happened with George?" asked Parvati, waggling her eyebrows.

Hermione reddened.

"It doesn't matter, as long as it was _George_," said Lavender with a giggle.

"True," Parvati chimed in. "Well, Hermione, now that we've got this part over with, what do you say you sign our little petition?"

"What petition?" asked Hermione excitedly.

Lavender and Parvati grinned.

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"Where've you been?" asked Ron as Hermione sat down for breakfast. She looked at the food, thought about Dopey and checked her goblet. Cold pumpkin juice sparkled within. She gave a small smile.

"My bed, then the corridors, and now I'm here," she said.

Ron stared at her.

She smiled happily, and bit into Harry's toast. Someone had been creeping behind her, so she turned around.

Ginny Weasley stood there, shuffling her feet and looking remorseful.

Hermione grinned evilly. "Oh, Harry, I forgot to tell you—" she began, watching Ginny flush horribly. "—Dobby said hello," Hermione finished with a sigh.

Ginny gave a tiny, gleeful shriek and sat down next to Hermione, hugging her arm.

Ron and Harry stared blankly.

"Oh, you've been to see Dobby, then?" asked Harry. Ron stopped eating long enough to throw a glance behind Ginny's shoulder. Fred and George were closing in fast.

"Er—yes," replied Hermione slowly.

"You on about that spew nonsense again?" mumbled Ron unhappily as his brothers grinned.

"S-P-E-W," corrected Fred.

Hermione turned around, exchanged a glance with George (who had averted his eyes for some reason), and scooted closer to Ginny, as if seeking protection.

"Secret Providers to Every Weasley," finished Fred.

Hermione glared. Fred and George sat down. Pansy Parkinson, of Slytherin, passed by with a couple pug-faced girls, snickering. A chill went up Hermione's spine.

Just then, a hundred or more owls fluttered into the Great Hall, aiming directly for their owners.

Hedwig brought Harry a letter and a picture he had refused to show Ron ("It's—er, just a photograph of Dudley—he's, eh, lost weight. You wouldn't want to see it—doesn't move").

All of the Weasleys received short notes from their mother that made them roll their eyes. They tucked the letters deep within their pockets nonetheless.

Hermione, though, had blinked in surprise as a neatly-addressed envelope landed in her pudding. The owl, a proud white-spotted specimen, dropped next to her goblet and dipped its beak into her pumpkin juice.

Ron narrowed his eyes warily. "Whose owl is that?"

"Krum's," Ginny clapped, obviously enjoying herself. "Look! Look at the address!" she shrieked, then caught Harry looking at her. Her elbow slipped most ungracefully, and the next moment, her robes were covered in jam. Harry pretended not to have noticed.

The address that had Ginny so excited was quickly covered by a flustered Hermione.

"What _about_ the address?" asked Ron.

Ginny smiled dreamily. "It said, 'Hermione Granger, My Heart, Hogwarts'."

Hermione blushed while the rest of the table snorted. A stray plate cluttered somewhere behind them.

Hermione was itching to read the letter, but everyone had been staring, so she pocketed the note with as much dignity as she could muster.

Fred, not one to be easily deterred, fancied this a perfect time to test his new invention.

"Oi, George," he said carefully, trying to keep a straight face.

George Weasley had been staring at a pink Hermione, so Fred just tucked a small marble in his hand. George looked at the marble absentmindedly, then instinctively put it in his mouth.

He chewed for a few seconds, with a fidgety, hyper Fred watching expectantly.

Then—

"What the—"

George jumped up, knocking his chair over. He waved his hands, trying to cool his mouth. The marble in his mouth melted and soon, his very bones felt quite different. He swayed, his throat burning. White spots danced before him and he was suddenly rather thirsty.

"What'd you do to him?" he heard someone yell loudly. Hermione Granger had stood up with a worried look on her pink face.

George tottered.

"Er —" Fred stood up as well, looking about helplessly. "Super Sticky Stew Glue, but this isn't how it's supposed to work."

George blinked and reached for the nearest goblet. He'd be better after a sip of juice, he was sure, and—suddenly, Krum's surprised owl gave a piercing hoot. It had somehow stuck to George's arm. George looked at it frantically.

"Reverse it! Reverse it! He's sticking to everything!" shrieked Ginny. George merely continued to pick up objects. By the time Professor McGonagall had made her way to their table, he had three forks, one spoon, Ron's apple, Harry's glasses, and Krum's owl glued to him.

Fred took one look at him and doubled over, laughing.

Hermione didn't find it nearly as amusing. She said something to Professor McGonagall ("He did _what_, Miss Granger!"), then took a tentative step toward George.

She reached out a hand and—

Fred Weasley was in hysterics as Hermione stuck to George.

She shrieked, George wobbled, and the two continued to fuse together in their panic. Not even his impending detention (and the possibility of being expelled) could dim Fred's laughter. The whole hall had turned into a bunch of befuddled spectators as Hermione and George tried to wriggle free.

Draco Malfoy was roaring with laughter, Professor Snape was glaring with disgust, and Dumbledore was nowhere to be found. It was only when Hermione somehow swung her arm behind her, that Fred's face turned serious.

"Oi, no! Don't touch _me_, for Merlin's sake!" he yelped, backing away.

Of course, it was too late.

His robes caught with Hermione's and the more he twisted, the less space there was between the three. They toppled over into a few chairs, one of which had been harboring Ginny Weasley's cloak.

The pink letter inside it gave a silent scream (as the hearts within it complained of oxymoron and called in a penalty for the opposing team). It swished around until it stuck to someone's back.

The laughter didn't die out even when Madam Pomfrey came to fetch a furious Hermione and the chortling Weasley twins.

Draco Malfoy smirked, making a slight adjustment to his plans.


	7. VII

****

Author's Note: Many thanks to Rose, who e-mailed me with an _almost_-_essay_, which featured all the reasons why Hermione should be with _Ron_. As persuasive as they were, I've got a soft spot for the Weasley twins. And Percy. And Bill. Charlie, too.

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Hagrid, the caretaker, hadn't been mourning the loss of his letter for long.

With Hermione's help (Harry and Ron had—predictably—left the half-giant waiting), he had written a lovely letter to one Madame Maxine.

He had borrowed a Hogwarts owl, let Tiny kiss the note for good luck, and was now waiting for a response.

He'd been so cheerful, in fact, that even two faint-hearted Gryffindors—specifically, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil—who were usually rather lily-livered around Hagrid, asked for his help with no worries.

"It's just a petition, er, Professor," Miss Patil had said. "Your signature would really mean a lot to us."

He had signed it joyfully—having absolutely no idea what had been asked of him in the petition—smacked them on the back and continued to the Great Hall, to grab a bite (or fifty seven) to eat.

"_Certus_!" someone shouted as Hagrid walked through the door. The entire student body was on its feet, circling what was, by the sound of it, Madam Pomfrey.

Her shrieks carried well, Hagrid noticed.

"_Certus_! _Certus_!" she repeated with irritation, and Hagrid pushed aside a few sixth-year Ravenclaws.

Hagrid's beetle-black eyes widened almost comically. There, being ushered out of the side entrance, were Hermione and—were those the Weasley twins?

Laughter, snickers and an occasional crude innuendo drifted toward Hagrid's ears.

"One's not enough for Hermione _Granger_," said a Slytherin girl, "she needs _two_. Always the overachiever, I see."

"Of course she needs two. They're _Weasleys_," replied a Slytherin boy, "_five_ of them aren't even worth _one_ regular wizard."

If he had been allowed to use his wand, Hagrid, who never fancied himself a level-headed friend, would have turned them all into ferrets.

"Awriot," he boomed, "wot 'appened?"

Professor McGonagall, who looked particularly mortified, rubbed the bridge of her nose. "We've just lost another hundred points, Mr. Hagrid."

Hagrid searched the sea of faces for Harry Potter.

Harry, who'd had a piece of toast clutched in his fist, stood next to a pale Ron Weasley.

"They've really done it now," said Ron numbly. "She'll never talk to another Weasley for as long as she lives, Harry. Do you know how long that is? A lifetime, Harry, a _lifetime_."

Harry said nothing.

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"It won't hurt," lied Madam Pomfrey.

She'd performed a final _Certus_ spell and was satisfied. Her patients weren't sticking to each other anymore. All other objects, though, weren't as fortunate.

"Er—if you could, dear?" she motioned to the wand that was glued to Fred's knee. Fred tugged at it, then handed it over. Madam Pomfrey waved said wand and George's hair finally let go of the blanket.

Hermione Granger slumped onto a cot, curling into a blanket.

"Er—I hope she's not _crying_," said Fred wildly.

Madam Pomfrey gave him a death glare. She'd take care of Fred Weasley _last_.

A soft sob drifted across the room.

"Oh, come off it! It wasn't that horrible!" shouted Fred upon seeing Hermione's little shoulders start shaking. She had indeed been crying.

George was quiet.

"There, there, dear," soothed Madam Pomfrey gently. "It'll be all right, you'll see. They'll forget all about it before you can say owzzizz."

"Owzz-what?" whispered Fred. George shrugged.

"Come now, Hermione, you've been through worse," said Madam Pomfrey as Hermione wound the blanket tighter around herself. The blanket chirped as it stuck to Hermione, and Madam Pomfrey muttered another quiet "_Certus_". The blanket unglued itself.

Fred watched uncomfortably. "Well, if it bothers her so much, we could put a memory charm on the lot of 'em."

George thought for a moment. "Er, last time we tried that, you couldn't remember your name for three weeks."

"Good point," said Fred. "So—what do we do?"

"Get a good laugh. It's what you always do, isn't it?" said a quiet voice. Ginny Weasley stood near the infirmary door. Hermione wouldn't look at her.

"Ron's writing to mum, in case you're wondering," Ginny said and walked away. Even Madam Pomfrey winced.

Hermione lifted her head. She wiped away her tears indignantly, then adopted an indifferent expression. "How long do we have to stay here, Madam Pomfrey?"

Madam Pomfrey glanced at the twins. "Until this wears off—any idea when that would be, Mr. Weasley?"

Fred grinned. "None, as this is the first testing. But I'm taking notes, be assured."

Madam Pomfrey returned her attention to Hermione. "If it doesn't wear off soon, I'll have Professor Snape brew us up a potion," she said calmly.

Hermione nodded solemnly and curled up again, ignoring the twins.

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"What d'you want to see me for, Ron?" asked Sirius, out of breath.

The Fat Lady hadn't wanted to let him in until he had chased her again.

Ron Weasley looked up from his Wizard's Chessboard. He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I wanted your help with the Marauder's Map, but it's a moot point, for now."

Sirius Black waggled his eyebrows, "Up to no good again, eh? Glad to see someone's upholding such a fine tradition."

Ron nodded absentmindedly.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, then plopped into the nearest chair. "Where's Harry?"

"Talking to Ginny about going to see Hermione later," replied Ron. A black rook stomped on a white pawn and dragged it off the board. The black queen growled menacingly. Ron pushed the board away.

Sirius was looking at him with a glint in his eye. "Ginny, eh?"

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Yes. My _sister_."

Sirius grinned evilly. "I see." His expression changed. "Wait. _See_ _Hermione_? Did something happen?"

Ron gave a gloomy sigh. "I'm surprised you haven't heard. She's in the infirmary. Glue incident."

"So, it's true?" Sirius blinked. The white king ambushed a defenseless queen. Too bad it was the white queen.

"So, you _have_ heard."

"Er—it would seem so. An old witch in Hogsmeade's got a granddaughter here. The rumor is that Hermione was caught snogging with your brothers—_both_ your brothers—in a closet, and that when the Headmaster found them, she put a hex on him for interrupting. Apparently, their punishment was to be glued together for the rest of their lives," mumbled Sirius. "Of course, half the population in Hogsmeade is drunk this time of year, so I thought it was a joke."

Sirius looked at Ron.

Ron was staring, with his mouth open. "That—that's not what happened!"

Sirius looked relieved. "Good. It would have put a bad face on Harry."

Ron stiffened. "_Harry_?"

Sirius shrugged. "Well, rumors are a terrible thing, Ron."

"Right. But—_Harry_?" Ron prodded numbly.

Sirius looked confused. "What about him?"

"You said—"

"Ah."

"Yes."

"So..." Sirius cleared his throat.

Ron sat in his chair, stiff as a board. A black pawn waved to a white bishop. "Why's it always someone else?" he asked after a while, in a low voice. "Someone else is always the famous one, someone else is always the Head Boy, someone else is always better for Hermio—"

Sirius frowned.

Ron looked at the chessboard, then at the floor, and finally back up at Sirius. With determination, he stood up and cleared his throat.

"On second thought, I may need your help, after all."

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Ginny Weasley was careful not to get too close.

Not necessarily because Hermione Granger could potentially turn her to glue with a mere touch, but because she'd seen her scowl angrily. Night had fallen, and Madam Pomfrey, who'd had a soft spot for the youngest Weasley, allowed Ginny to stay even after Harry left.

"Um, Hermione?" asked Ginny carefully. Hermione hugged her knees. They sat in silence until Hermione shifted.

"What's the matter, Ginny?" she asked.

Ginny blinked. "Er —"

"I mean, this isn't your fault. You don't have to stay here. It's Saturday. You should go have fun," whispered Hermione.

"I'd rather be here," said Ginny simply.

Hermione grinned. "Which boy said what to you this time?"

Ginny blushed. "That's not—actually—no."

Hermione tilted her head inquiringly. "It's okay, I don't mind. Go ahead."

Ginny cringed uneasily. "It seems silly. I mean, here you are—suffering because of my _stupid_ brothers—"

"—I'm not suffering, per se—"

"—and I'm bothering _you_ with _my_ problems."

Hermione looked behind her shoulder to check for signs of Fred of George. "Ginny, you're not bothering me," she said quietly. "What's wrong?"

Ginny paused, then stood up and began pacing. "I—I got this letter."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "You, too?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Go on."

"Yes, well," mumbled Ginny, clasping her hands behind her back. She paced around the cot, checking in to see whether her brothers were asleep. Satisfied, she turned to Hermione.

"It's from Harry," said Ginny meaningfully.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, then covered her mouth. "Sorry!" she lowered her voice as Ginny blushed.

"I'd let you read it, but I seem to have misplaced it," she said apologetically.

Hermione nodded. "Lot of that going around," she said with a smirk. "What did he say—er, write?"

Ginny sat down abruptly, as if her little legs couldn't support her anymore. "He—oh, Hermione."

Hermione tried very hard to keep a straight face. "I don't look good in green."

"Hmm?"

Hermione's grin grew. "I said I don't look good in green, in case you were picking out bridesmaids' dresses."

Ginny looked as if she were about to catch fire. "I—I didn't, _wouldn_'t—"

Hermione shushed her. "Fine, green it is, but you're not getting anything for Christmas." Before Ginny could retaliate, she added, "So, what happens now?"

Ginny twiddled her thumbs nervously. "It went like this: Ginny got a letter. Ginny read the letter, Ginny met God, God said Ginny was too young and had unfinished business on Earth, God sent Ginny back. And now, Ginny's hoping the wise Hermione Granger can help her," she finished with a cute smile no person alive could resist.

Hermione was smiling as she got up, careful not to touch anything. "I know Harry, Ginny, and if he could find the time to tear himself away from his precious Quidditch practices to write to you, then he can very well just come out and say it." She sat down at Madam Pomfrey's desk, and summoned a quill.

"Um, Hermione?" asked Ginny, her voice tinged with alarm. "What are you doing?"

Hermione grinned mysteriously. "Writing a note to Lavender."

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The moon had dipped low in the sky; dawn was coming.

Fred Weasley tinkered with Madam Pomfrey's wand.

"She's going to be quite upset when she attempts to heal a student with a fake wand," said a sulky voice behind him. "What was it this time? Rubber chicken or salamander?"

Fred grinned and shrugged. "You noticed that, huh?"

Hermione Granger nodded. She hugged her pillow closer, and shot Fred a look. "One of these days you're going to get in real trouble, Fred."

Fred turned over, and rested his head on his shoulder. "How come you never get it wrong?"

Hermione frowned in confusion.

"Us. Which one of us you're talking to. Even mum misses every so often," Fred elaborated.

"That's because you've driven her mad and she doesn't care which one's getting a lecture since—usually—you've both done something atrocious."

Fred snorted. "Good point. Does that mean we haven't driven you mad yet?"

Hermione tried not to hex him.

Fred sat up on his cot, his feet dangling off. "So, what's your secret?" he asked seriously.

Hermione looked unruffled. "I'm a regular know-it-all, remember?"

Fred was quiet.

"George has seven less freckles," she said finally.

Fred guffawed, then collected himself. "I'm sorry about the glue."

"No, you're not," replied Hermione.

Fred grinned. "Know-it-all."

Briefly, his hair stuck to the pillow, which coaxed a small smile out of Hermione.

"So, what does Potter want with my sister?" asked Fred suddenly.

Hermione blanched, then scowled. "You're unbelievable. Eavesdropping on your own sister!"

Fred shrugged. "It's not my fault you giggle loudly."

"I don't giggle."

"Do, too."

"Do not."

"Do, too."

"Do not."

"Do, too."

"Fred, I still have my wand," warned Hermione.

"Fair enough," grinned Fred. He glanced at a sleeping George and hopped off his cot. He managed to stumble across the room, and sat down near Hermione's cot.

She looked uncomfortable with the concept.

"Why'd you write to Lavender?" he asked.

Hermione frowned. "None of your business."

"I could tickle you until you spill all your secrets," he waggled his eyebrows.

Hermione flushed. "And I could turn you into a house-elf."

Fred looked intrigued. "Couldn't."

"Could, too."

"Couldn't."

"Fred, honestly!" Hermione tried not to scream. "It's Ginny's business, and you'd better leave her alone, or I'll conveniently forget the recipe for the Polyjuice Potion."

"Two words," grinned Fred. "Perfect Per—"

"That's not going to work anymore." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Being embarrassed in front of the entire Hogwarts far surpasses any blackmail you could come up with."

Fred frowned for a change.

He thought for a moment, and with every second that passed in silence, Hermione's smile grew.

She'd finally won.

"Did Snape ever figure out who'd broken into his cabinet three years ago?" asked Fred craftily.

Hermione paled.

"And I happen to think you look just fine in green," added Fred with an evil grin.


	8. VIII

****

Author's Note: They're so cute. So amusing to write about. So trusting. So easy to manipulate. Don't you just love it?

__

BadMoonlight: You more than made my day. If I could find a plausible way to drag either Oliver or Percy into this, I surely would. Alas...

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"Er—what's all this?" asked Hermione.

Ron fidgeted. "Well, it's—uh, that is—even though it's Sunday—" he flushed, then unceremoniously thrust a book at Hermione.

She practically bounced. "My homework—I, oh—_thank_ _you_, Ron!" For a moment, it looked as if she would hug the daylights out of him, but Hermione stopped and sighed. "I'd better not. You'd hate to be cooped up in here with your brothers."

"You can say that again," said Ron, wrinkling his nose. He cleared his throat, tapped his knees, squirmed in the chair, and finally looked at the floor.

Hermione failed to notice.

"Did Lavender manage to talk to you?" she asked after a while, leafing through her precious textbook.

Ron stared. "Lavender Brown? Er, no. Why?"

Hermione looked about, then leaned closer to Ron so she could whisper. Ron coughed uneasily. "Did you sign?" she asked.

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "Sign what?"

Hermione eyed him peculiarly. "The _petition_, Ron," she said.

"Hermione, have you been using that time-turner again? In a sordidly illegal way? Has it mucked up your thinker? Should I go fetch Professor McGonagall?" Ron asked hastily.

Hermione squinted. She took a deep breath, laid her hands across her lap and gave him a placated smile. "The ball. Did. You. Sign. The. Petition. Ron?"

"There's going to be another ball?" hollered a voice.

Fred Weasley was looking at them with a playful twinkle in his eye.

Hermione purposefully ignored him. She turned her back on both Fred _and_ George, and scooted closer to her friend. "Ron, you know I'm usually against these—objectifying, demoralizing, vapid gatherings," she explained.

Ron nodded warily.

"However, I believe this assemblage will benefit," here she paused thoughtfully, "_certain_ _people_."

Ron Weasley was quiet for a moment.

"Like Harry?" he asked temperamentally.

Hermione beamed. "Especially Harry!"

Ron mumbled under his breath. He narrowed his eyes and continued talking to himself.

Hermione leaned forward, observing him intently. "Ron? Is something the matter? I thought you'd be _happy_."

Ron blinked at her. "Oh, yes, I'm bloody _ecstatic_," he said sarcastically.

Hermione frowned unhappily. "Ron Weasley, you—you disappoint me sometimes. I had expected more from you."

Here he looked up and gave her a sharp look. "Well, what about Krum, then?" he asked pointedly as the ugly vase next to George's head cracked. The painting above it gave an annoyed _tsk_, but looked rather grateful.

Hermione looked lost. "Er—what about him? How's he fit into all this?"

Ron looked at her with bewilderment.

George, who'd been listening with interest, chortled loudly. "Let's make short work of this, shall we?" he said wickedly.

Fred watched from his cot.

"You, Ron, are a blithering fool," grinned George viciously.

Fred whooped his agreement, while Ron seethed where he sat.

Hermione frowned angrily. "You shouldn't—" she began hotly, but George interrupted.

"And you, Hermione, are blinder than a beheaded salamander," he said, and Madam Pomfrey, who'd come to check in on her patients, covered her mouth.

"George Weasley! No chocolate for you!" she shrieked, shooing Ron away.

He stood up. "I'm _Ron_," he pointed out.

"I know very well who you are, but do step aside—can't you see I'm trying to tend to Miss Granger?"

Ron went to stand beside his brothers.

Hermione's cheeks were pink as Madame Pomfrey cooed. "Don't mind any of 'em. Rotten, rotten boys, the lot of them. Except maybe that Percy fellow, now he was a gem—"

All Weasleys in attendance rolled their eyes.

Hermione wanted to burrow her way to China. "It's all right, Madam Pomfrey, I was—"

"None of that now," smothered Madame Pomfrey. "I came in here to see if you were feeling up for a wee walk. Professor Snape would like a word with you."

Hermione lost all color and shot a scathing glance at Fred.

Fred shook his head quickly as if to say 'To the best of my recollection, I've nothing to do with it!'

Hermione Granger considered lying to the medi-witch for a long minute, then sighed and climbed off the cot. Madam Pomfrey tucked her into a robe (which had an anti-glue spell put on it) and walked her out.

Ron Weasley glared after them.

Fred poked him. "Mum'll be quite disappointed, ickle Ronniekins."

"Naff off!" snapped Ron. He sat down on what had been Hermione's cot, and shot daggers at the twins. "What's Harry got that I haven't?"

Fred grinned and opened his mouth—

"Shut up!" said Ron wisely. He looked lost in thought for a moment. "He's too famous, and Hermione doesn't like to be in the spotlight, remember?" he said contemplatively.

"Yes, that's exactly why she went to the Yule Ball with only the _youngest_ _professional_ _Quidditch_ _Seeker_ in all of Europe, instead of someone _really_ famous," snorted George.

Fred raised his eyebrows curiously.

"That was different!" shouted Ron. "She only went with him because _I _hadn't asked!"

George shrugged. "What makes you so sure she would have said yes even if you _had_ asked?"

"Because—because," spluttered Ron, "because she told me!"

George shrugged again. "That was a year ago, ickle Ronniekins."

Fred's eyebrows shot up higher.

"Oh, what do _you_ know!" Ron threw a pillow. The pillow asked for more.

"Well, I know that if there is indeed a dance this year, she won't go with you."

Ron stared. And stared. And promised to clean his ears when he went back to his dormitory. "Well, she won't go with _Harry_!" he said finally.

"I'm inclined to agree," said George oddly.

Fred watched.

Ron calmed. A small smile escaped his lips. "And Krum's not here."

"You don't say."

Ron contemplated for a minute, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "Besides, if Krum _were_ here, she wouldn't go with him again."

Fred snorted.

George grinned. "And why is that?"

"Well," thought Ron. "He's too tall for her."

"Look who's talking."

"He's... he's got a _unibrow_, for chrissakes!" suggested Ron.

"They've invented tweezers, I've heard," replied George calmly.

The crease in Ron's forehead deepened. "He's—er—not handsome."

"Love's blind, apparently."

"Well—he'd never be around, playing Quidditch for _Bulgaria_, of all places."

"Well, absence does make the heart grow fonder," said George evenly.

Ron gave a frustrated growl. "He's just not _right_ for her!"

George opened his mouth to retaliate, but Fred beat him to it. With an utterly vicious grin, he stood up and said, "While our little George is just _perfect_ for her, wouldn't you say, Ron?"

George Weasley choked.

Ron gaped.

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Draco Malfoy, who was as pale as he was evil, made a beeline for the spiral staircase.

Crabbe and Goyle, who'd been walking behind him, wearing dimwitted grins, stopped as he stopped.

"We ought to be careful at this point," whispered Draco. Crabbe nodded. Goyle gave an affirmative grunt.

"_Fumo_!" said Draco quietly. The corridors filled with thick black smoke.

Crabbe and Malfoy began sneaking toward the portraits, but a disturbing sound stopped them dead in their tracks. Goyle was coughing madly. Choking. Which was a miracle, really, since it most oftentimes seemed he had no proper neck, and by default, was missing a throat.

"Button it, you pillock!" Draco spun on his heel. He pointed his wand and—

"Don't, Draco, I'm sorry!" pleaded Goyle.

Draco snarled. "I was just putting a Breathe Easy charm on you, you worthless excuse for a pureblood!"

Goyle looked sheepish. Crabbe snickered. Draco shot him a menacing look.

"Who's there?" asked a squeaky voice. "Goodness! All's gone dark!" the Fat Lady shrilled. "Sir Peritwinkle! Sir Peritwinkle! Can you see anything?"

"No, but I can bloody well hear _you_," said a voice, which most likely belonged to said Sir Peritwinkle.

Draco smirked and pulled Crabbe and Goyle along.

"Are we under attack, Sir Peritwinkle?" asked the Fat Lady with panic. Sir Peritwinkle went back to sleep.

"Sir Peritwinkle? Sir Peritwinkle? Oh, dear, oh, dear! I knew I should have applied to guard the Hufflepuffs instead."

Draco laughed. "Silly bint. Leading us right to it."

Crabbe and Goyle nodded their appreciation.

"Lucian! You cannot possibly sleep now!" shouted the Fat Lady horribly. Only the hoot of a tiny owl came as a reply.

Momentarily, Draco covered his ears to block out the horrid wailing of the Fat Lady, then waved his wand and whispered, "_Amplio_!"

Through the smoke, a large entrance began to grow.

"_Amplio_!" Draco repeated gleefully.

There it was.

The secret entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room.

No password needed.

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Harry Potter, who never thought he'd be running from Sirius Black (again), slumped against a wall.

The kitchen had seemed like a logical choice only a few short moments ago.

Now, Harry was slowly changing his mind.

He had found himself staring at a group of surprised faces.

"Is there a basilisk running 'round?" asked Lavender Brown blandly. She was sitting at a round, wooden table, surrounded by a small congress of—_girls_.

Harry swallowed.

"Er—no," he said slowly, wondering how to exit gracefully.

"Why've you been running like mad, then?" asked Parvati Patil. She bit into an apple and gave him a curious look.

Harry quickly glanced at the rest of the party.

His Quidditch teammates—Angelina, Katie, and Alicia—stared at him with piercing eyes as if he'd just interrupted something of great importance to the world. And there, half-hiding behind Lavender, was little Ginny Weasley, looking up at him with big pretty eyes.

Harry cleared his throat bravely. "I was—er—what are you lot doing here?" he asked, changing the subject. After all, they needn't have been informed about Harry's demented godfather who fancied himself quite the Cupid's arrow.

"We needed some peace and quiet to plan," said Alicia with a shrug.

"Yes, Neville blew up the big table—you know, the pretty one in front of the fire," Ginny babbled, "while he was playing a round of Exploding Snap and—and, um, you're probably not interested."

Harry smiled. "Neville? I suppose while Fred and George are out of commission someone's got to take up the destruction bit."

Ginny tried not to giggle stupidly. Katie and Angelina grinned.

"So, Harry," said Katie shrewdly, "have a seat. I believe there's some room over by Ginny."

Ginny blushed to the tips of her toes.

Harry looked around, wishing Dobby would come along and save him (or hurt him by trying), but only Sleepy seemed to be up and about.

"What're you planning?" asked Harry as he sat down. Ginny dropped a dessert spoon she'd been playing with. Harry bent to pick it up. He returned it to Ginny. Ginny reddened and every other girl at the table giggled giddily.

Harry's heart sped up. He wondered why his scar wasn't hurting, because he certainly felt trouble was on the horizon.

Finally, Parvati Patil took mercy on him. "We're plotting out the best way to approach the Headmaster."

"Approach him about what?" wondered Harry. He speared a stick of celery and observed it with distaste. Obviously, these girls weren't quite right in the head. Nothing but _fruits_ and _vegetables_ graced the table. No pudding, no jam tarts, no pumpkin pies—

"—Harry, are you listening?" asked Lavender.

"Yes, of course," lied Harry. "Something about pies, was it?"

The girls exchanged looks.

Ginny frowned.

"Are you all right, Harry?" she asked.

Harry tried chewing on the celery, then promptly spit it out. "I w_i_ll be when I get this taste out of my mouth," he said. "Distract me."

Ginny flushed.

"Er—by telling me about this plan of yours, I mean," added Harry quickly.

Lavender giggled and clapped her hands.

"Well, Mr. Potter," she said officially, "we are exactly nine signatures shy. Were you to sign our beloved petition..." she trailed off suggestively.

Harry rubbed at his eyes.

"It's for the ball," Ginny whispered in his ear, and he could have sworn he'd seen her wink at him.

"Ah," he mumbled, wondering if he'd, by chance, stumbled into one of those parallel dimensions Ron'd been talking about. "In that case, where do I sign?"

A round of cheering later, Harry was being hugged and pampered by six enthusiastic girls.

Ron would never believe him.


	9. IX

****

Author's Note: Eep. Sorry about the delay. Apparently, I can't handle updating three stories at once. Boo! Come, Percy, show me how to organize competently.

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Hermione Granger was glowing.

And for once, it had nothing to do with a horrid Weasley prank, or an unfortunate duel with Draco Malfoy.

She practically bounced down the corridor toward the infirmary, with a certain kind of spring in her step. She skipped gleefully, passing by a snoozing Madam Pomfrey.

Both Weasleys turned to look as Hermione snuck into the dimly-lit room.

"He knows nothing—_nothing_!" she shrieked incoherently.

George Weasley squinted. "What are you on about?"

Hermione grinned, her eyes glittering in the darkness. "Professor Snape," she said, and knelt next to George's cot.

George raised his eyebrows, but didn't complain.

Fred frowned.

"What about him?" asked George.

Hermione clutched George's pillow. "He—I thought _someone_," here she glared hatefully at Fred, "had told him about my, er, borrowing a little shredded skin of a boomslang three years ago, but—" She sighed happily and burrowed into George's shoulder.

George grinned evilly at Fred.

Fred rolled his eyes.

"He knows nothing!" breathed Hermione like she'd just been told she'd received the most N.E.W.T.s in history.

"Why'd he want to see you then?" asked Fred.

"He's gone mad," said Hermione thoughtfully. "He's convinced Neville—Neville!—has been stealing his supply of Bubotubor pus."

Everyone laughed.

Hermione wiped away a tear. "I don't know why Snape thought _I _would be inclined to rat out a fellow Gryffindor, though," she mumbled.

Fred shrugged casually. "Even that greasy git knows little Miss Granger abhors rule-breaking."

Hermione looked at him oddly.

Then, a small, rather mysterious smile crept up onto her features.

George raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to ask—

"About that," whispered Hermione conspiratorially, and pulled out a tiny jar she'd been hiding underneath her cloak.

Shredded skin of a boomslang.

Both Weasleys jumped up and knelt next to Hermione on the floor.

"How—"

Hermione looked perfectly innocent. "Er—it was the strangest thing." She smiled sweetly, glancing from Fred to George, "It just.... stuck to me and wouldn't let go. Another side-effect, I reckon."

George just stared at her, awestruck, while Fred looked about ready to kiss the stuffing out of her.

"Don't take this the wrong way, mind you," said Hermione quickly, "I still think this is a horrible, horrible idea."

She stood up and scampered to her own bed. She fluffed up her pillow, unglued a book from it, and prepared to just drift off when Fred Weasley said, "First time's always the hardest, eh, Hermione? After that, it's smooth sailing, innit?"

She flushed, bunched up her blanket and threw her pillow. Her aim must have been perfect because Fred gave a muffled oomph and was quiet for a moment.

Unfortunately, he was quiet for reasons Hermione wouldn't even have dreamt of.

The pillow, which was grumpy from having been tossed so much today, had been hiding an exhausted pink letter.

Fred's fingers traced over it. He looked at Hermione, then the letter, then Hermione again.

With a shrug, he unfolded the letter. Even though the hearts within the note seemed annoyed, Fred read the contents without much effort.

He blinked, looked at Hermione, then the letter, then Hermione once more.

"Er—Hermione?" he asked slowly.

"Yes?" came the muffled reply.

"Is—er—is this for me?" he asked.

Hermione sat up, saw the pillow but not the letter, and sighed dramatically. "No, for the Fred behind you," she said sarcastically.

"Ah," said Fred.

George frowned.

"Can we sleep now?" asked Hermione.

Fred snorted. "Of course," he said laughingly, and waggled his eyebrows for effect.

George eyed him suspiciously.

Fred took one look at his brother and grinned triumphantly.

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Neville Longbottom couldn't believe his eyes.

He'd been all alone in the Common Room, preparing to climb up to his dormitory, when it started.

Now, as Neville was a wizard, he had seen furniture fly before.

But never quite like this.

He ducked an incoming chair and yelped as a sofa crashed through one of the large, and therefore costly, windows.

Draco Malfoy, trying very hard not to make a sound, tugged at Goyle's Invisibility Cloak.

"Um... um," said Neville, jumping from one foot to the other. "Water...icus?" he mumbled to his toad as the fireplace burped and the curtains caught fire.

Crabbe nearly endangered their covert mission by giggling.

Draco hoped never to hear that particular sound again.

"Water...ilis?" Neville tried again.

The fire spread, eating through a scarlet rug.

"Oh, dear," said Neville.

Even as the flames licked everything around him, McGonagall's footsteps echoed loudly.

Draco put his wand away, pinched Goyle, and dragged Crabbe off by the ear. Quietly, they pressed themselves against the wall, letting several professors pass.

Professor McGonagall fixed Neville with a glare ("I didn't do it!").

The three Slytherins snickered, running past a panicky Fat Lady.

"_Diluviareus_!" shouted Professor Flitwick.

The fire died away.

"What happened here, Neville?" asked McGonagall, massaging the bridge of her nose.

"Er—it—I—" stammered Neville.

McGonagall's eyes fell on her favorite table, which now looked more like _seven_ little tables. Neville couldn't be sure, but for a moment, it seemed as though Professor McGonagall would cry. "That table's been here even before I—" she began, then composed herself. "_Neville_," she gritted out.

Neville sunk into himself, trembling.

"Did you—did you have anything do to with this abomination?" she asked, pointing to the table.

Neville gave a guilty quiver. "Yes, Professor, but that's the only—you see, Fred Weasley—wrong cards—that is to say—I didn't do anything else —"

"Hundred points from Gryffindor, Mr. Longbottom," said Professor McGonagall angrily.

Neville's eyes widened.

"And detention," continued McGonagall, surveying the damage. Professor Flitwick managed to repair the stairs, but the furniture and windows were beyond salvation.

McGonagall sent one last glance at her favorite childhood table and added:

"_With_ _Professor_ _Snape_."

Neville resisted putting himself under a more permanent _Petrificus_ _Totalus_ curse.

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"Honest, Ron," Harry was saying. "Six of them. _Six_."

Ron mumbled, violently spearing a sausage.

"And—" began Harry again, but quickly shut his mouth. The rest of the Gryffindors were beginning to enter the Great Hall.

"Mornin'," said a sleepy Dean Thomas.

"I still smell like burnt toast," complained Parvati.

"It wasn't Neville's fault," said Ginny, flushing. Lavender gave her a murderous look.

"We're two hundred points down now. We're behind the _Hufflepuffs_, for crying out loud!" grumbled Seamus Finnigan. "Let's just be happy there's a Quidditch match around the corner."

All eyes fell on Harry.

Harry coughed and lowered his head, busying himself with his scrambled eggs.

Ginny Weasley sat down next to Ron, poking him in the ribs. "Good morning, Ron," she said politely.

Ron eyed her suspiciously. "What d'you want?"

Ginny faked indignation. "Honestly, can't a girl—"

"Oi, Lavender," said Ron, still glaring pointedly at his sister. "Let me see it."

Lavender's eyes all but rolled up in her head. Parvati had to grab her elbow for support.

And Ron had to turn around to see what was wrong as Lavender hadn't answered him for a full minute. "Lavender?"

"Yes?" breathed Lavender shakily.

Ron scrunched up his nose. "Can I see the petition? I want to sign."

Lavender squealed, flew across the table, and threw her arms around Ron's neck.

Ginny giggled so loudly that the entire Hall stopped to look at the Gryffindor table.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for excessive public displays of affection!" shouted Professor Snape moodily.

Lavender blushed horribly. The rest of the Gryffindors mumbled acidly.

"We're almost at _zero_," said Seamus under his breath. "What'll they do when they _can't_ take any more points? Skin us alive?"

The Gryffindors glanced at Snape and shuddered.

And then, like a ray of sunshine, Hermione Granger entered the Great Hall.

Happily, she went and stopped next to Ginny, a big smile plastered all over her face.

Her fellow housemates scowled.

"Er—is something the matter?" she asked, her smile disappearing.

"Not much," said Ron testily. "We're only a hundred and fifty points behind _Hufflepuff_." Then, suddenly, he narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in the infirmary?"

Hermione blinked and ignored his questions. "What—when? HOW?"

Ginny tugged at Hermione's sleeve. "Neville, Lavender, fire, snogging, Snape."

Hermione ignored the horrible visual and sat down next to Lavender, who was red in the face and sitting dangerously close to Ron.

"Does this mean Super Sticky Stew Glue stopped working?" asked Harry, trying to change the subject.

Hermione nodded, but before she could add anything, Fred and George Weasley entered the Great Hall.

Ron watched, his lips thinning into a straight line. George was frowning and talking quietly to Fred. Fred was grinning like mad.

"—are you sure?" he asked George.

The Gryffindors carried on with breakfast, watching out of the corner of their eyes.

"Are you sure you don't care?" asked Fred again. His lips were stretched into an odd grin.

"Look, Fred, you're wrong, I don't fanc—"

Fred raised his hands to stop George from finishing. George sat down next to a subdued (sleeping, but no one noticed) Lee Jordan. Fred remained standing. He seemed to be pondering something.

"What's going on?" asked Ginny, currently the bravest Gryffindor.

Hermione gave her a puzzled look. "They've been bickering all morning," she said, sipping Lavender's strawberry juice.

George mumbled something and dug into his breakfast. Fred glanced at Hermione, then at George, then at the breakfast (roast everything). He took a step toward Hermione. Ginny eyed him suspiciously.

"All right, George," said Fred firmly. "Then this shouldn't bother you one bit," he added with a grin, and reached for Hermione.

Hermione dropped Lavender's goblet.

Fred gripped her shoulder and spun her around.

The entire table let out a collective gasp as Fred pressed his lips to Hermione's.

Harry choked on his milk, Ron gaped dazedly and Ginny squealed.

Severus Snape's voice boomed from across the Hall. "Fifty points from Gryffindor!"

Only Lavender clapped.


	10. X

****

Author's Note: Um. Okay. So, we're rooting for Fred now?

And I adore Draco, but he deserves a little embarrassment, as well.

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It seemed like breakfast would be cut short.

The Slytherin table had all but thrown a wild party. Pansy Parkinson had been shrieking veiled obscenities at Draco, expressing her happiness. Crabbe and Goyle took the opportunity to toast the promiscuous Gryffindors with equally condescending grins.

Hufflepuffs were a giggly bunch, while Ravenclaws kept track of current house rankings. More than one Ravenclaw had a patronizing comment aimed at certain Gryffindors.

Professor Snape brooded, Professor McGonagall tried not to look at her own house, and Dumbledore, who'd been delighted, continued playing with his lemon cakes.

The Gryffindors, though, sat there, divided.

The girls were staring (and sighing) at Fred Weasley, who had been engaged in what had to have been the longest kiss in the history of Hogwarts. The _boys_, who hadn't been aware they were allowed to snog Hermione Granger—especially not like _that_—sat in shock.

"Oi, Lavender," said Lee Jordan after a while. "Let me sign that petition, too."

Parvati eyed him suspiciously.

Lee shrugged. "Hey, if there's gonna be snogging, you have to count me in."

Lavender whimpered as Ron stalked off.

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Fred Weasley wore a goofy, slightly dazed grin. He stole another quick kiss, then reached for Hermione's forgotten breakfast (marmalade on toast, which had been snatched from Lavender Brown anyway). He pushed a sulky Lavender aside ("Hey!"), and sat next to Hermione as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Hermione just stared. And stared. And occasionally blinked.

"So, I'll take that as a yes," said Fred coolly through a mouthful of toast. Hermione looked at him blankly, observing his slightly swollen lips.

Fred's grin grew. He dropped the toast, and casually draped an arm around Hermione. "The ball. You'll be going with me."

It wasn't a question.

"She'll hex him any minute now," whispered Parvati conspiratorially. "It won't be pretty."

Harry nodded, swallowing.

Hermione's face was so pink it was almost blue. "I—I have, er, homework," she said numbly, and pried Fred's arm off. She scooted away with a wary scowl, and stood up. She snuck one last glance at Fred's lightly curled lips and set off.

With as much dignity as she could muster, Hermione walked by the smirking Slytherins ("I knew the glue was just a convenient excuse," said Pansy Parkinson), giggling Hufflepuffs ("Can we come to the wedding? We promise to bring something nice!") and a small group of Ravenclaws, who all flashed thumbs up as she passed.

She shot one last, insecure glance at Fred, who'd been watching her with a grin, and bolted out of the Hall.

She didn't even notice that two particular Gryffindors weren't seated at the table anymore.

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"I don't know, Draco," said Goyle slowly, "we've been in the lead before and hadn't won."

Draco's eyes narrowed to wrathful slits. Goyle swallowed. "That is to say, er, that you hadn't been—erm—"

"—that you hadn't been _applying_ yourself then like you are now," coughed Crabbe. Draco beamed (in that broody villain way). Goyle gave a small sigh of relief.

"Your noses are beyond brown," said Draco smugly, "but you _are_ right. I haven't been applying myself."

"Well, what do we do now, Draco?" asked Pansy, clipping herself to his arm.

"Watch and learn," said Draco and sketched his plan out in Pansy's mashed potatoes.

His presentation was interrupted by the morning post.

Dozens of owls flew overhead, dropping packages and letters. A few stray feathers landed atop Draco's head.

He didn't notice.

His eyes had been following a particular owl.

There it went, over the Hufflepuff table, across the Ravenclaws, toward the Gryffindors.

Draco watched gleefully as Fred Weasley winced. A red envelope had dropped onto his plate. Neville Longbottom whimpered and scooted away, instinctively covering his ears.

Draco nudged Crabbe. Crabbe nudged Goyle. Goyle nudged Draco.

A loud horrible roar filled the room, shaking dust from the ceiling.

"_—AN OWL FROM DUMBLEDORE, OWL FROM PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL, OWL FROM PROFESSOR SNAPE DEMANDING YOU BE EXPELLED, OWL FROM GINNY (ERROL'S HAD IT!), OWL FROM FILCH AND THAT'S WHEN YOUR FATHER LOST COUNT! GLUE! AND DIDN'T I TELL YOU TO STAY AWAY FROM HERMIONE! YOU LEAVE THAT POOR GIRL ALONE!_"

Crabbe choked on his chocolate milk, laughing hysterically. Goyle smacked him on the back until he stopped coughing. Draco snickered in the background, even though his ears hurt. A small piece of peeling paint drifted onto the Slytherin table. Pansy Parkinson eyed the ceiling with a certain amount of uneasiness.

"_—YOU WON'T STOP UNTIL YOU'RE EXPELLED! GLUE! IMPRISONED, EVEN! JUST YOU WAIT 'TIL I GET A HOLD OF YOU! DIDN'T I WARN YOU, FRED? AND YOU GEORGE? AND YOU FRED? DIDN'T I? GLUE!—COULD HAVE BEEN SERIOUSLY HURT—ARE YOU SO SET TO SEE YOUR FATHER DIE OF SHAME? GLUE? HERMIONE? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?—_"

The red envelope curled up and burst into flames.

Neville Longbottom gave a sigh of relief.

Fred Weasley looked gloomy.

Draco finished his breakfast quickly. A slow, evil smirk crossed his face. He nodded at Crabbe and Goyle, and stood up.

He made his way to the Gryffindor table, and parked right behind Fred Weasley.

"Has Madam Hooch talked to you about the game on Saturday?" asked Draco wickedly.

Fred turned to look at him. He looked bored. "What _about_ the game, Malfoy?"

"Well," began Draco airily, "we've had a small chat, you see."

Fred frowned.

"It seems Madam Hooch is worried about your well-being," continued Draco as Crabbe snickered.

"My what?" Fred narrowed his eyes and stood up. He was slightly taller than Draco, so Draco backed off.

"What are you talking about, ferret?" asked Lee Jordan, aiming a chicken drumstick at Goyle.

"Oh, just that we suggested you two sit this one out, seeing as you're most likely still under the influence of an unknown substance. That is to say, you would have quite an unfair advantage, you see."

Fred seethed. Lee Jordan balled up his fists. Seamus Finnigan threw a large, round plate at Draco.

Draco waved it away, and smirked.

"Five points from Gryffindor," said an exasperated McGonagall. She pinched her nose. "Do return to your table, Mr. Malfoy, or I will be forced to take points from Slytherin."

"Unfair!" shouted an outraged Dean Thomas. "Why do _we_ lose poin—"

McGonagall shot him a look and, immediately, he fell silent.

Draco Malfoy smirked, raised an eyebrow and walked off.

When he sat back down to finish his juice, he noticed something had stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

An ugly pink letter.

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"Lavender's right," said Ginny Weasley thoughtfully, "if anyone should speak to Dumbledore, it ought to be you, Harry."

Harry Potter, who'd been cornered by the Unofficial Natale Ball Committee, squirmed.

"Dumbledore likes you, Harry," said Angelina Johnson determinedly. Katie and Alicia nodded enthusiastically.

"You've gotta, Harry," said Katie Bell coyly. Harry's heart skipped a beat. "After all, this is our last year, and we deserve a ball."

"But I should really go find Ron and—"

"Oh, you'll see Ron in class," huffed Ginny.

Harry felt for a way out.

Parvati Patil, who'd kept throwing him puppy-dog looks (which made Harry reconsider sitting), poked his forearm. "Promise us, mister!"

Harry swallowed. "I'll—I'll—oh, all right!"

The group squealed, and let go of Harry. Harry wiped his brow.

Angelina Johnson stopped bouncing first, and smiled at Harry. Harry coughed. "All right, Harry. What's your last class today?"

Harry tried to remember. Katie and Alicia watched him with identical looks.

Harry sputtered. "Potions. Er, no. Care of Magical Creatures—no, that's tomorrow —"

"Herbology," said Ginny. Everyone looked at her. Her ears went pink.

"Er, very well," said Angelina. "After Herbology, you and Ginny," here she grinned deviously (Harry gulped), "will go impress Dumbledore with our presentation."

Ginny nodded and slipped her little hand in Harry's.

Harry looked at her with wide eyes.

"Oh, and keep your mind on the matter at hand, Mr. Potter," warned Alicia Spinnet, though her eyes twinkled.

Harry went brick-red.

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Hagrid, who'd been jittery all morning, forgot he had a class to teach.

Actually, he rather forgot his own name.

Madame Maxime's coach was here. Twelve silver horses whinnied in front of his cabin. Hagrid had remembered to stock up on Single Malt Whiskey (Professor Flitwick was currently under the impression their grounds-keeper had a bit of a drinking problem).

He petted the lead horse's mane, and waited for Madame Maxime to exit.

Once she did, Hagrid's throat went dry.

Madame Maxime, who was a large brutish woman, had been smiling broadly.

"Rubeus!" she greeted, extending her hand.

Hagrid snatched it, none too gracefully, and helped her down the steps.

"I am zo happ-y to zee you!" she said. Hagrid flushed, and fidgeted with his ratty old tie. "You would not beli-eve the—ah—sto-ries I've 'eard!"

Hagrid paled.

"Er—wot stories?"

"Oh, you would not beli-eve—" repeated Madame Maxime.

A large, monstrous creature jumped out behind her. Hagrid blinked. It was an utterly nauseating animal; with long, dimpled ears, glistening paws, and a rat's snout.

It was love at first sight for Hagrid.

"Oh, zis is Petite," said Madame Maxime proudly. "She iz my, how you say, pet."

Petite eyed Hagrid for a moment, then burped fire in a manner not unlike that of Tiny.

Fang, who had peeked out of the cabin to see what all that commotion outside was about (plus, Tiny had set fire to his tail), caught a glimpse of Petite, whimpered loudly and scurried off into the Forbidden Forest.

After a short wrestling match with Madame Maxime's _other_ pet (a pig that almost looked like a green dog), Hagrid looked up. He motioned for Madame Maxime to follow him into his humble abode.

"Oi, wot was that 'bout stories?" asked Hagrid, trying to keep Tiny inside the cabin.

Madame Maxime walked into the room (ducking her head), and conjured up a teapot and rock cookies.

"Oh, my zear Rubeus," she said with a sigh.

Tiny lifted his head, then quickly lowered it when Petite spotted him.

"Zis school of yours. It iz so... so ..." Madame Maxime struggled to find an appropriate word. Finally, she settled on, "Promiscuous."

Hagrid's face fell.

"I like it!" said Madame Maxime, startling Hagrid out of his stupor.

Hagrid, the half giant, had never smiled so brightly.

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Harry had rushed through Herbology.

As a reward, a particularly nasty orchid bit his finger. He chucked it out of the window. Professor Sprout took five points from Gryffindor for breaking the window, and another five for setting a mentally-unstable orchid free.

Hermione, who'd been keeping to herself (and away from Ron), hadn't even attempted to answer the professor's questions to make up for lost points.

Of course, Harry had been too preoccupied to notice.

He attempted to sneak off to Quidditch practice the moment Professor Sprout dismissed them, but Ginny Weasley had been waiting for him.

"There's an orchid on the loose, did you know that, Harry? It bit my leg!" said Ginny bewilderedly. She rubbed her ankle, and that's when Harry noticed.

Pie charts, graphs, statistics, polls, petitions, rolls of parchment filled with essays—

Blinking dazedly, Harry knelt next to Ginny and plucked a curly green leaf out of the ground. "Here," he said, "rub that in, and it'll stop itching."

Ginny looked at him, smiled happily, and wrapped her little arms around his neck.

Harry reddened.

In the distance, he thought he'd seen Hagrid usher Madame Maxime into his cabin, but forgot all about it as Ginny said, "I really hope Dumbledore agrees."

"To what?" asked Harry blankly as Ginny let go of him.

"Er—the ball," said Ginny slowly.

"Oh!" said Harry, collecting the rolls of parchment.

"Are you—are you all right, Harry?" asked Ginny as they began walking toward Dumbledore's office.

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Er, yes. I've just been—been feeling a little strange lately, is all."

Ginny looked at him with an odd expression, but said nothing.

"So," said Harry, clearing his throat, "if Dumbledore agrees, who're you going with?"

Ginny just glared at him.

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Severus Snape had been having an absolutely horrible day.

The Gryffindor boys had apparently discovered the concept of girls earlier in the day, and his Potions classes had demanded he teach them the finer points of making a love potion.

After he'd dealt with said Gryffindors appropriately ("Detention, Mr. Lee, and do _not_ let me hear you use that—that vile word ever again!" and "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Finnigan. I think I shall be owling your mother."), there was still the little matter of the Dueling Club.

To his chagrin, Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin, ex Death Eater, a man of great intellect and equal importance, had found his wand-brother.

In Neville Longbottom.

So, it would be an understatement to say that, as he strolled (stalked through) the corridors later that day, he was not a particularly happy man.

"Ah, Severus," said a merry voice behind him. "Just the person I've been looking for."

Severus gave an overly dramatic sigh and spun on his heel. "Headmaster."

"The strangest thing happened to me today," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling.

"You don't say," said Snape moodily, then gave a disinterested scowl.

"It seems we shall be having a ball!" said Dumbledore, and accompanied it with a clap of his hands.

Snape opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"It's quite all right, Severus," said Dumbledore, amused. "I've been persuaded by young Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley that the student body is indeed in need of some, ah, extra-curricular activities."

Snape closed his mouth (which had turned into a line so thin, it seemed he _had_ no mouth). "I see. Is, heaven forbid, precious Mr. Potter bored?" he drawled. "Perhaps we should move his quarters to the Forbidden Forest. Would that suffice? Will you dismiss this ball nonsense, then?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Ah, Severus," he said as if he were speaking to a small, spoilt child. "This will do you good, I'm sure."

Snape blanched. "What do you mea—"

Dumbledore raised a pale hand. "I've decided that you should oversee the preparations, as well as the event itself."

Snape felt panic creep up his spine. "But, Headmaster—"

He was interrupted by a loud outburst of chortles and giggles and the rest of that insidious bilge.

Draco Malfoy and his ugly goons ran past.

They froze when they spotted Snape _and_ Dumbledore.

Snape collected himself. "Is there a reason you're running like a lowly Gryffindor through the dungeons?"

Malfoy looked slightly sheepish. Dumbledore cleared his throat, as he had been a Gryffindor running through the dungeons once, himself.

"No, Professor," said Malfoy.

"What's that behind your back?" asked Snape suspiciously.

Crabbe and Goyle blanched.

"Well?" asked Snape impatiently.

"Er," mumbled Malfoy, "we, er..."

"_Accio_!" said Snape. A crumpled, pink note flew straight into his waiting fingers.

Malfoy turned an odd color. "I _was_ going to give it you, Professor!" he said defensively.

Crabbe and Goyle nodded in agreement.

"Dismissed," said Snape lazily. Malfoy glared, then angrily stalked off. Crabbe and Goyle eyed the pink letter warily, then scampered after Malfoy.

"Balderdash," said Dumbledore mirthfully. "You will _obviously_ have no difficulty organizing a mere ball."

Snape gave him a dirty look.

Furiously, he practically ripped up the letter as he opened it. Then, his frown grew to ridiculous proportions. He looked at the corridor, then at Dumbledore (who'd been reading behind his back), horrified.

Snape's day had definitely turned for the worse.

"Oh, dear, I see you have... an admirer, Severus," said Dumbledore, bursting with humor. He patted Snape on the back, and walked off, but not before throwing a controlled, "You might want to reconsider your teaching techniques," over his shoulder.

Severus Snape, his blood boiling with that Slytherin rage, wanted to murder somebody.

Preferably a Gryffindor.

But Draco Malfoy would do.

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Ron sat, swallowed by the huge, plush armchair.

He flung a mangled plastic figurine into the fire.

"That's life for you, Krum, old friend," he said with a glower. He crossed his arms and stared at an invisible spot on the wall. Suddenly, two big eyes clouded his view.

"Er—hello, Ron," said Lavender Brown timidly.

Ron nodded and kept staring off into the distance.

"So, um—" Lavender cleared her throat.

"He's not better looking than me, is he?" asked Ron suddenly, fixing his eyes on a flushing Lavender.

"Oh, no, no, of course not," gushed Lavender, as her cheeks reddened, "you're so much taller and your hair isn't as red, and your freckles—"

She paused.

Ron's eyebrows were so high up on his forehead, she mistook them for his hairline.

"Er—what about my freckles?" prompted Ron curiously.

Lavender opened her mouth to mumble something incoherent, but someone beat her to it.

"They're a disgrace to the family name," said George Weasley offhandedly, and dropped into a chair next to Lavender.

Alicia and Angelina, who'd been sitting with Katie Bell, hunched over blueprints and long lists, exchanged annoyed glances.

"Where's Fred?" asked Ron, inspecting his nails coolly.

George shrugged, equally calm. "Off snogging your friend, I suppose."

Ron remained composed. "Harry doesn't like Fred that way," he said.

George cracked a grin.

Lavender giggled.

Ron smiled, too, then squared his shoulders. "She hasn't said yes yet."

George shrugged. "Might as well. I'll bet you twenty Sickles rumors about the two of 'em eloping reach mum by Saturday."

Ron returned the shrug.

Lavender watched them with an odd expression, like she wanted to ask something, but thought better of it. She sighed loudly, and both boys looked at her.

"But she's not his type," said Lavender helpfully. Ron eyed her curiously.

George frowned. "What d'you mean?"

"Well," said Lavender thoughtfully, "I always thought Fred (and you) would look for a—a—erm, there's really no good way to say this —"

"Just say it," said Ron, his eyes hiding a spark of amusement.

"Well... Hermione's not exactly, er, fun."

Ron flinched, narrowed his eyes, but then relaxed.

Encouraged, Lavender continued. "She's always got her nose stuck in some book—you'd rather be playing chess. I mean, _Fred_ would be rather playing chess. Ahem."

Ron shrugged.

George just listened quietly.

"I love her dearly, but she—she's always worried—_you_'_re_ rarely worried. She doesn't approve of pranks, and, I mean, let's face it, Fred was always after girls like, um, Angelina. (Angelina growled low in her throat and shot George a nasty look.) You lot are obsessed with Quidditch—Hermione can't even look at a broom."

Lavender took a deep breath, feeling much better. "She's—she's just not what you're looking for."

"You're right," said George as he stood up. He started for his room.

In a quiet, surprised voice, he added, "She's more."

The Common Room collectively blinked.


	11. XI

****

Author's Notes: Sorry. Too many ideas, too little time. And, whee! _Long_, sugary chapter ahead.

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Tuesday, October 21st, was a sad affair.

Hermione Granger was entirely too scarce. Lavender Brown complained to Parvati Patil ("Honestly, you'd think You-Know-Who was after her, not poor Fred Weasley!") over breakfast.

Ron Weasley had been so meditative, he'd lost to Harry Potter in chess (Harry, of course, celebrated such a miracle by overdosing on Chocolate Frogs).

Fred Weasley moped around, after losing thirty points (Professor Flitwick discovered the little surprise Fred had left), _and_ realizing Hermione Granger was indeed avoiding him.

Sirius Black, who agreed not to have any say in naming Harry's future children—as he had no talent for it, and seemed mean where he meant to be the opposite—patrolled the grounds ("What? So now, _no_ _one_ needs my help?").

Inexplicably, only George Weasley seemed happy.

He'd enchanted all the toilet seats to sing a Muggle song he'd heard from the Creevey brothers, and now, every time a Gryffindor boy entered the bathroom, a chorus of echoing "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream" was heard.

"I'm going to be scarred for life," Lee Jordan told George, "but at least your spirits are up."

George grinned and offered him a stick of gum.

Two hours and a trip to the infirmary later, the Weasley brothers cornered their youngest sibling.

"Where's Hermione?" asked Fred. "We need to discuss a certain potion. Also, there's snogging to be had."

Ginny crossed her arms. "I'm not telling."

"All right," said Fred, grinning. "George, you take one arm, and I'll—"

Ginny gave a loud, "Eep!" and scurried away.

Very quickly, she ran up to the girls' dormitory and made a beeline for the fifth-year quarters.

"Oi!" huffed Parvati Patil as Ginny slammed the door. She muttered a locking charm, and leaned against the wall with a relieved sigh.

"What's the big idea?" asked Lavender Brown, levitating a bottle of mocha nail polish.

Ginny Weasley hastily explained.

"Oh, yes, poor Hermione," said Lavender Brown moodily once Ginny finished retelling her story ("Really! Chased me for hours, they did!").

Hermione Granger, who was curled up underneath a pile of books and blankets, sighed dejectedly.

Lavender Brown blushed. "Er—sorry. I forgot you were there."

Ginny giggled.

Hermione sat up, her face flushed, and opened a book. "That's all right," she said. "I know how this must seem."

Ginny frowned, and went to sit on Hermione's bed. "Boys," she said, sighing.

Parvati nodded.

"But," began Lavender with a whine, "what's wrong with being liked? You're acting like someone tried to murder Crookshanks."

Crookshanks, the cat in question, hissed nastily at Lavender, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

Hermione's cheeks were horribly pink.

"I mean, it's not like it's You-Know-Who—it's poor Fred Weasley!" said Lavender, standing up and wildly pacing the length of the room.

"You've said that already," reminded Parvati with a grin.

"Well, I'm saying it again!" shouted Lavender, throwing a capped vial of some orange liquid at Parvati. "It's true, isn't it?"

"But you see—" said Hermione quietly, "he—it's not what you think."

Ginny leaned her head on Hermione's shoulder.

"Then what is it?" asked Lavender, finally sitting down.

"Fred—he doesn't like me," said Hermione. "Well, not really."

Lavender rolled her eyes, frustrated.

"And George is even worse," continued Hermione, her voice shifting from quiet to angry ("Who mentioned George?" whispered Parvati, confused).

"And it's your fault, Ginny!" Hermione frowned and glared at Ginny, who'd scooted away. "If you hadn't given them ideas about that bleedin' Polyjuice Potion, everything would have been just fine!"

Ginny snorted and relaxed. "All right, Hermione, if that makes you feel better."

Lavender giggled. "Why do you want to believe so badly he doesn't like you?"

"It's just—let's call it a Muggle thing," said Hermione, biting her lip.

"All right, we'll call it a Muggle thing, if you actually tell us what _it_ is," said Parvati slyly.

Hermione glared. "I'm busy reading my book," she huffed.

"Er, your book is upside down," said Ginny kindly.

Lavender and Parvati giggled.

Hermione gritted her teeth. "They're—they're immature, flaky, irresponsible, and don't mean what they say. I thought it was common knowledge."

Ginny shrugged. "Can't argue with that."

"So, just because Fred—er, decides to snog me one day, doesn't mean he's—"

"—going to want to snog you tomorrow," supplied Lavender.

Hermione bit her lip. "I'm smarter than that. I'm not going to let him—let him—"

"Turn you into a girl?" snickered Parvati.

Hermione fell back onto her bed, burying her head in her pillow.

Lavender seemed lost in thought. "Er... and, what about George?"

Hermione blinked. "What about him?"

"Oh, um, nothing," said Lavender, coughing.

Parvati gave her an odd look. "And Ron?" she asked as Lavender jumped.

"Ron _Weasley_?" asked Hermione, startled.

Ginny giggled. "Hopeless, Hermione, you are."

Hermione looked quite lost. Then, huffily, she squared her shoulders and said, "I don't need boys. _School_ is more important."

Lavender clutched her heart as if it had just stopped beating.

"She didn't mean it!" said Parvati quickly. "She doesn't know what she's saying! Of _course_ she needs boys!"

Hermione cracked a grin.

Ginny stopped laughing long enough to poke Hermione's shoulder. "And who _is_ your perfect boy then? Who would be _good_ _enough_ for your highness?"

Hermione's brow furrowed with concentration. "Somebody like Viktor, who studies and—"

"—is rich," sighed Ginny.

Hermione went brick-red. "That's not—"

"Look, Hermione, if you waited for a boy that was good enough for _you_, you'd have to wait forever and a day," said Lavender Brown.

"Longer," added Parvati.

"Yes," nodded Ginny.

"I—I'm not sure if that was a compliment or an insult," said Hermione.

"You ought to take it as a compliment," supplied Parvati with a grin.

Hermione smiled, closed her book, and fixed Lavender with an ominous grin. "Well, I do apologize for not having my entire love life all mapped out."

Lavender stopped cackling and started paying attention.

"No one does," she said unconvincingly.

Ginny gave her a strange look. "Er, I seem to have heard something about you marrying Ron and having three children—a girl and two boys—and I don't even live here!"

Lavender blanched.

Parvati looked slightly guilty.

"And you—_you_!" retaliated Lavender nastily.

Ginny paled.

"Harry Potter!" was all Lavender managed to shout before Hermione burst out laughing.

Suddenly, a very loud, very authoritative "_Alohomora_!" came, and the door burst open.

All giggling stopped.

Professor McGonagall stood there, hands on hips, glasses high up on her nose, looking down at the four red-faced girls.

"As it is neither Saturday nor a holiday, you ought to show more respect for your fellow housemates. Some of them have exams tomorrow!" said Professor McGonagall sternly.

Hermione Granger, in particular, looked shamed.

"Five points from Gryffindor," continued Professor McGonagall in a rather tired voice.

And then she spotted poor Ginny Weasley, who had attempted to hide behind Parvati Patil.

"And why isn't Miss Weasley in her own dorm?" With an almost-growl, she pinched the bridge of her nose, and mumbled, "Five more points from Gryffindor. Honestly, Miss Granger, I thought you, of all people, would know better."

Hermione's bottom lip curled with a whimper.

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October 22nd, a chilly Wednesday, found the heavy-hearted Gryffindors, many of whom decided to skip lunch, huddled around their table.

The enchanted ceiling above them was dull and gray, and even the chattiest girls, namely Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, simply pushed around their peas and potatoes. Dean Thomas kept glancing at his photo of the Chudley Canons, shooting subtle looks at an evasive Harry Potter.

Fred Weasley was serving detention, having been caught feeding fireworks to Mrs. Norris. George Weasley, on the other hand, was serving detention with Professor Sprout, who insisted he claim responsibility for his experiments ("Feeeeeeed me, Weeeeeeeasley," sang the large tulip).

Hermione Granger, who could finally eat her lunch in peace, didn't seem to be enjoying herself. She looked and felt sleepy, poking a candelabra with her fork. Ginny Weasley watched Neville Longbottom feed his frog a chicken drumstick.

Ron Weasley kept glancing at a miniature board, which held house points, as if somehow, miraculously, Gryffindor would suddenly be up by a few hundred points. Of course, in this fantasy, the reason would be something he, the youngest Weasley boy, had done. Hero to all and all that.

Unfortunately, the board only changed once, to show that Gryffindor had lost another ten points (George Weasley's Abomination Plant had eaten a mandrake root and its family threatened to sue).

And then, when even Dumbledore looked about ready to yawn and smack his head onto his plate of mashed potatoes, a tiny owl fluttered into the Great Hall.

"Hey, Ron, that looks like Pig," said Harry, yawning.

Ron Weasley smacked his lips sleepily, then shrugged. "S'not him. He would have hit the chandelier, and fainted on Snape's head by now."

The tiny owl came closer, whooshing past the Ravenclaw table, its little eyes narrowed as it searched.

A thin green envelope hung from its fluffy claws.

"Oh, dear," said Hermione, biting her lip.

Harry frowned.

"Isn't that—?" asked Ginny Weasley, blinking.

"It is," replied Hermione hesitantly.

Ron and Harry exchanged glances. Harry nudged Ron, Ron nudged Harry.

"_You_ ask," whispered Ron.

"_I _asked the last time, and she nearly bit my head off," hissed Harry.

The tiny own circled gloomily, then swooped down, and landed atop a handsome golden platter.

"You ask."

"No, you ask."

"You—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," snapped Hermione, "it's Viktor's owl."

Ron and Harry stared.

"D'you think he—" asked Ginny with a wince.

Hermione nodded. "Most certainly."

"Oh," said Ginny.

"Yes," said Hermione.

Ron and Harry watched intently.

"Do you understand any of it?" asked Harry under his breath, trying not to catch Hermione's attention.

Ron looked about ready to cry, but then grinned. "None. It's all Parseltongue to me."

Harry rolled his eyes with a grin.

"And do you think he'll—" continued Ginny.

"Oh, as likely as not," nodded Hermione.

Lavender Brown spotted the owl (and the green envelope attached to it), and her eyes widened.

"Is that—?"

"Yes," supplied Ron and Harry with identical bemused looks. The tiny owl hooted impatiently.

"And is there—" asked Parvati uneasily.

"Undoubtedly," said Hermione sourly.

"Will he—" began Lavender, but was interrupted by a loud, annoyed voice.

"Oh, just get on with it already!" shouted Dean Thomas frantically. "Some of us would like to know before we graduate!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

Dean Thomas sunk back into his chair and hid his face behind Seamus Finnigan's shoulder.

"You fool," mumbled Seamus, "now she'll _never_ tell us."

"Or, possibly, will murder us," said Neville Longbottom with a cough.

Hermione simply sat up straighter, stuck out her chin, and ceremoniously snatched the letter from Krum's owl. Deftly, she worked the green envelope open without even glancing at it.

She cleared her throat, and fixed a flushed Dean Thomas with a cool, frighteningly indifferent glare. "While I am aware you lot are in desperate need of gossip, I assure you, you're not getting it here."

Harry Potter nodded his agreement, while Ron Weasley looked horridly curious.

Hermione quickly scanned the note, her eyes widening and narrowing, her lips opening and closing, until, finally, she looked up and gave Ron Weasley a thunderstruck blink.

"What's the matter, Hermione?" asked Ron carefully.

"He—he's angry about his owl," said Hermione slowly, as if she couldn't quite believe her own words.

"What?" asked Harry.

"His owl," repeated Hermione, her voice rising.

Ron attempted to pick up the green note. He skimmed the letter, a small grin playing about his features.

Harry leaned closer and asked, in a low, worried voice, "Why's it green?"

Ron smirked gleefully. He cocked an eyebrow, and said, "Why are Howlers red?"

Harry winced.

Ginny Weasley, who'd snatched the letter away from Ron, mumbled to herself. "— blah, blah, blah, Baltazar is a prize owl—blah, blah, blah—glue, do not appreciate—blah, blah, blah—hear you were kissing some boy—blah, blah, blah, Baltazar is traumatized, how will we compete in the Nationals—blah, blah, blah, who was the boy?—"

Ginny stopped reading, slowly put down the letter, and looked at Hermione. "He didn't even ask if you were okay after the whole—"

"It's all right, Ginny," said Hermione, dragging her nails across the tablecloth. She was biting her lip as she said, "I'm sure he was just upset about his owl."

"Yes, poor Baltazar," said Ron Weasley with an incredibly evil grin.

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By Thursday, a soft, fluffy layer of frost had covered the Hogwarts grounds.

Hagrid, the half-giant, spent the better part of the early morning walking the grounds with Madame Maxime.

"But I 'ave a class to teach," he was saying.

Madame Maxime sighed dramatically. "What about Krismas, zen?"

Hagrid thought for a moment. "Oi! That'd be perfect!"

Madame Maxime smiled.

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A few meters, and three layers of thick stone away, Professor Severus Snape stood near the fireplace.

Pie charts, graphs, statistics, polls, petitions, and rolls of parchment filled with essays littered his desk. With a disgusted frown, he began sorting through—these vile preparations.

"Yes, yes," he told himself, "heaven forbid we simply ignore Christmas. Whatever would the universe do? The world would surely stop turning."

With a histrionic sigh, Snape flipped through sheets of parchment until he came across a crumpled pink note.

His hooked nose wrinkled horribly. He reread the letter, his eyes gleaming dangerously, then stood up and tossed the note into the fireplace. He brushed off his hands gracefully, smirked, and reluctantly returned to his desk.

The pink letter, however, screamed a tiny "The attic!" and disappeared before the flames could even touch it.

When it next floated out of the fireplace, it found itself drifting toward a cluttered table, past a crystal ball and a million tiny beads.

The tiny hearts within the note gave up and went to sleep.

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Friday's Double Potions was an exercise in control.

As part of his dramatic schedule overhaul (the ball preparations were equal to a summoning from Voldemort), Snape had clumped his fifth-year classes into one large class.

The Hufflepuffs were delighted.

Susan Bones quickly zoomed in on Hermione Granger, ran across the room, practically knocking Pansy Parkinson to the ground, and put her cauldron next to Hermione's with a happy squeal.

The Ravenclaws were less enthusiastic, but still very much intrigued.

The classroom was suddenly too crowded, too cluttered, too loud, and the Slytherins voiced their dissatisfaction loudly.

Professor Snape merely smirked, shot Draco Malfoy a disgusted scowl and deducted two points from Slytherin.

The Gryffindors collectively gasped, then quickly busied themselves with chopping random ingredients before Snape could take points off for breathing.

"You must add more ladybug wings," Snape told Ron in passing. He checked his cauldron, sighed deeply, shook his head and went to vent his frustration on a sheepish-looking Neville Longbottom.

"With pleasure!" said Ron, cackling. One couldn't tell if Ron was chopping or _beating_ the ladybug wings.

Susan Bones threw him a frightened look.

Hermione managed to keep a straight face as she put a hand on Susan's shoulder and said, "You see, Susan, last year, if you remember Rita Skeeter..."

Harry Potter, on the other hand, was busy keeping his face its natural, snow-white color. Padma Patil was to be his partner for this particular assignment, and Harry couldn't help but remember the letter she had given him.

"Harry," grumped Padma eventually.

Harry dropped his ladle. "Er, yes?"

Padma glared at him, and Harry shifted nervously.

"Why do you keep staring at me?" she asked, her chopping erratic.

Harry swallowed.

"I, er, I'm _not_," he said bravely. Absentmindedly, he added a couple pinches of finely-ground rats tails.

Padma narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Are you—are you trying to ask me to the ball?"

Harry dropped his ladle again. With a horrible flush, he fished it out of the cauldron.

Padma rolled her eyes.

"I—" sputtered Harry indignantly.

"Because, if you are, do keep in mind I think Gryffindors are... for the most part, of little distinction," Padma was saying.

Harry frowned.

"Although, you defeating You-Know-Who a couple times does raise a certain—"

Harry's frown deepened. Angrily, he flung powdered beetle eyes into Padma's cauldron.

__

Bang!

A gooey substance brimmed and bubbled and sent a gust of thick black ash straight at Harry, and consequently, Padma.

"—and so, in conclusion, I suppose I will go with you to the ball, but by this day, I do so out of pity," finished Padma, unruffled.

The goo jumped out of the cauldron and snaked onto the floor.

Harry, his face blackened by the ashes, blinked.

Draco Malfoy, who'd watched the gooey substance crawl across the floor and towards him, backed into a corner. The goo continued on its way, reaching out to touch the tips of his shoes. Draco shouted at Crabbe and Goyle, who wisely decided not to interfere ("Er, we're certain you can handle it by yourself, Draco!").

"Professor Snape!" said Draco, his voice rising in a panicked pitch.

Snape stopped chastening a petrified Hufflepuff, and looked up at Malfoy.

The goo had wrapped a sticky tentacle around Draco's knee, and Draco kept beating it with a ladle.

"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Snape, disinterested.

Draco's eyes widened in horror.

The goo twirled, and _poof_—grew to twice Draco's size. The rest of his classmates drew back as far as the classroom allowed. With a whimper, Draco dropped his ladle.

Snape raised a dispassionate eyebrow. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco paled. The goo had formed a mouth and was grinning at him hungrily. A trickle of yellowish drool plopped onto his hair ("Eww!" screamed Lavender Brown).

"_Professor_!" yelled Draco as the happy blob hugged him.

"Oh, very well," said Snape with a slow, deep sigh. He waved his wand, mumbled a spell, and the goo turned to liquid, splashing all over the classroom floor.

"Fifteen points from Slytherin," said Snape, "and, detention, I think. Someone must tidy up, after all." He spun on his heel, black robes billowing around him, and left the Slytherins blinking wildly.

"He's gone off his dot," said Blaise Zabini confidentially, "I hear it's because he's fallen in love with Professor McGonagall ("EWW!" shrieked Pansy Parkinson)."

Harry Potter, for his part, stood there, rubbing at his dusty glasses. Once, twice, three times he'd pinched himself, and still, he hadn't woken up.

"Harry," said Hermione worriedly, "I think your glasses have had enough."

Harry glanced down, then gave a sheepish smile. His glasses were missing the actual lenses.

"What's got you so ropey?" asked Ron, glancing at his book-bag, which was drenched in a smelly liquid-formerly-known-as-the-goo.

Hermione took Harry's glasses. "_Reparo_!" she muttered while Harry just spread his arms helplessly.

"I think I've a date to the ball," he said bewilderedly. "Padma Patil just—she—I don't know what happened."

Ron burst out laughing.

Hermione broke Harry's glasses.

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In a classroom three floors up, Fred Weasley heard a quiet tapping sound.

He glanced at the window.

Pigwidgeon stood there, banging his beak against the glass. Fred glanced at Professor Binns, who droned on and on and on about the Goblin rebellions.

Slowly, Fred Weasley crept up to the window, opened it, and uncurled the note. He patted Pig's head, closed the window, and returned to his seat.

"—which is when the governments of the Wizarding World met to consider solutions to the crisis, and today, we still draw responsibilities from the International Statue of Wizarding Secrecy of 1692—" Professor Binns was saying, his eyes closed.

George Weasley looked up from his parchment, put aside his newest experiment (a quill that translated everything into an embarrassing version of the original), and watched his brother curiously.

Fred Weasley recognized the handwriting, cringed, and opened the letter.

George watched as Fred raised his eyebrows, grinned, and then rolled his eyes.

Finally, with an amused grin, Fred Weasley handed the letter to his twin.

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Dearest Fred,

I'm so happy for you!

Hermione is going to be such a good influence on you! She will, that one. She has to. She's a nice girl.

Please don't turn her rotten!

You wouldn't, would you, Fred? Would you? She's such a nice girl. Please behave, Fred! You will, won't you?

Your father says to tell you to ask if Hermione will bring her parents over soon as we are now officially connected. (He says to bring their Muggle cellophanes._) Hermione will be such a darling addition to the family. UNLESS YOU TURN HER ROTTEN!_

Give all my love to dear Hermione (and your brothers and sister, and Harry, of course, and maybe that nice Longbottom fellow),

Mum

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George Weasley frowned and tapped his fingers on his desk.

Ron owed him twenty Sickles.

George sighed.

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Two long spiral stairways away, Professor McGonagall was walking briskly.

Sir Cadogan had followed her persistently, extremely curious to see what business she had so close to Professor Trelawney's classroom.

"Honestly," she said, irked, "must you know everything?"

Sir Cadogan curtsied, and leaned against his fat pony. "How else would I protect you, Madam? Constant vigilance!"

Minerva sighed.

She waited until Sir Cadogan's back was turned (his pony began grazing at the feather in his helmet), and quickly climbed the ladder into Professor Trelawney's classroom.

"Sybil," she began with a trace of loathing, "Albus sent me to pick up—"

Professor McGonagall looked around. Professor Trelawney was nowhere in sight. But there! On her desk. A pile of parchment with "For Minerva" on it.

Thankful she could avoid a confrontation with such a silly woman, Professor McGonagall scooped up the parchments, and began leafing through them on her way out.

Just as she reached the exit, she noticed something crinkly and foul-looking stuck between two pages.

A sleepy pink letter.

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Saturday was the day of the big game.

It was a cold ugly day, which got progressively worse as the Gryffindors discovered who would referee the game.

Professor Snape had given them a nasty smirk as they began to fill into their seats. Ginny Weasley wanted to sit as close to the field as humanly possibly, while Neville Longbottom defected to the Hufflepuff side, looking strangely giddy.

Hermione Granger, though, who'd been dragged to the first row, wore an uncomfortable expression. She was sandwiched between Fred and George Weasley, and looked as unhappy as ever.

Luckily, as this was a Quidditch game, the twins paid her little to no attention. Fred Weasley looked particularly miffed, while George Weasley kept shooting Draco Malfoy death glares.

Snape waited for the team captains to shake hands, then sneered.

"Mount your brooms," he spat.

"Up!" said the players.

Harry's Firebolt slid into Harry's palm first.

Snape frowned. With a weary scowl, he glared at the Gryffindors.

"On my whistle," he said and stuck out his fingers to count down.

Draco Malfoy exchanged a scheming glance with Millicent Bulstrode.

"Three," said Snape.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Two."

Harry frowned.

"One!"

"Aaand they're off!" said Lee Jordan, who'd amazingly managed to keep his position as the Quidditch commentator. "And the big excitement this match is the suspicious absence of the Weasley twins for Gryffindor. According to Angelina Johnson—who, if I may be so bold as to say, grows ever more beautiful—they've been disqualified for not having the misfortune to be born as Malfoys—"

"Jordan," said Professor McGonagall.

"Right you are, Professor. Parkinson or Higgs would have worked just as well—"

"Jordan!" warned Professor McGonagall.

"Okay, okay, Slytherin in possession—Greengrass, who is entirely too pretty to be a Beater _or_ a _Slytherin_, heading for the goal—and while I can certainly see why she'd be on the team, I cannot for the life of me understand why she would date a Slytherin Captain when a handsome Quidditch Commentator was available— "

"Jordan, didn't we have this discussion last year?"

"Er, I can't seem to remember, Professor. Was that before or after you told me to stop advertising Harry's Firebolt? If so, that would make it two years, and a conversation that is two years old is certainly not legally binding— "

"Jordan—"

"—Slytherin in the lead, but oooh! Katie Bell intercepts, passes—Alicia Spinnet of Gryffindor heading for the goal. Alicia, who I hear is dating a Chudley Cannons' Keeper, enjoys long, moonlit strolls and—"

"Jordan, you really ought to reconsider your choice of gossip."

"Right you are, Professor. The rumor mill has it on good authority you and Professor Dumbled—"

"JORDAN!"

"—and Harry Potter's on the move! Without a certain Miss Chang to distract him, he may just spot the Snitch, bringing a much needed highlight to the Gryffindor team. Gryffindor has been missing that certain something ever since Oliver Wood's acceptance into Puddlemere United. Cho Chang, while extremely pretty, proved to be quite a diversion for our Golden Boy, Harry Potter. Fortunately, unlike Ravenclaw, the Slytherin house is less inclined to allow girls on the team. One would assume it's because Slytherin boys are womanly enough— "

"Jordan, would you mind keeping your mind on the actual game?"

"Certainly, Professor—ooh, Blaise Zabini of Slytherin narrowly misses a Bludger, and no wonder, as Gryffindor has the prettiest Beaters substituting the Weasley twins. Daffodil Cornfoot, who's currently being wooed by a seventh-year Hufflepuff Seeker—"

"Jordan—"

"—and the cute Gryffindor Chaser, Katie Bell, who—in case I forgot to mention earlier—owes me a date, scores a goal! Gryffindor up by ten points! Which, of course, is no surprise as our superb, wrongly disqualified Beaters are sitting in the audience today, cheering our girls on—"

"Jordan, enough with the background information, concentrate on the commentary."

"Quite, Professor. Okay, okay, and Slytherin is in possession again—incidentally, possession is the word of the week, as our very own Hermione Granger seems to have—"

"Jordan—"

"—Zabini of Slytherin passes to a fellow Chaser. Blaise, with her pretty hair presents quite a problem for the Gryffindor Keeper—and do raise your hand if you think Hermione should just elope with a certain Weasley—"

"JORDAN! Are you running a dating agency? Get on with the commentary!"

Through a deafening roar of laughter, Harry Potter spotted a glint of gold.

Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy, who'd been trailing Harry, had spotted it, as well.

"Potter, your tail's on fire," said Draco as he whizzed past Harry. Harry couldn't help but check. Of course, his tail was just fine. With a growl, Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived For Quidditch, whooshed past a disoriented Daffodil.

The Snitch glittered above Malfoy's head, zooming in on his hair (which it most likely mistook for a flower of some sort). It fluttered and dipped below Draco as if it didn't particularly want to be caught.

Harry Potter grinned.

He dived quickly, reaching out his hand. He didn't even bother glancing over his shoulder—Malfoy had fallen behind. The Snitch struggled, bouncing up and down in front of Harry's concentrated face. There—almost—he had it and —

Thump.

Harry's fingers uncurled; he let go of his broom, and was spiraling downwards.

The ground looked exceptionally hard.

Harry shut his eyes tightly.

This was going to hurt.

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Ginny Weasley struggled in her seat.

Hermione Granger's hand sported scratches and tiny bruises where Ginny had squeezed too hard.

"They can't—someone _do_ something—oh, no—he's going to—"

Fred Weasley balled up his fists, Ron Weasley looked horrified, and George Weasley shouted at Snape, who, of course, hadn't heard (or, more likely, merely pretended to be deaf).

Two things happened at approximately the same moment.

Harry Potter, who was currently the only bright spot for the dispirited Gryffindors, crashed to the ground.

And two, Draco Malfoy caught the Snitch.

A blaring roar of cheers exploded from the Slytherin area. Green sparks shot out of dozens of wands, and an occasional "_Fine_ job, Malfoy!" echoed throughout the pitch. Professor Snape sounded the whistle—Madam Hooch shot him a dirty look.

Quidditch players of both teams touched ground. Alicia, Angelina, and Katie threw their brooms aside and ran up to where Harry Potter had landed. Madam Pomfrey rushed to tend to Harry, while Malfoy was hoisted up by his housemates.

Ginny cried, untucked her hand from Hermione's, and rushed off after a horrified Ron Weasley ("Harry—he has to be all right, he just has to!").

Soon, she was a blur, mingling with a legion of scarlet robes and grass-dirty uniforms.

Hermione Granger breathed deeply, her eyes wide.

"Did you see that?" asked Fred Weasley bewilderedly. "He glomped him, just bloody knocked him off his broom!"

George Weasley seethed. "I saw. He can't get away with this, he—"

"Snape's the referee," reminded Hermione numbly.

George gave her an odd, resigned look.

With a worried glance at the Weasley twins, Hermione Granger bolted toward the growing group of concerned students and faculty. Fred and George followed wordlessly.

Finally, they reached Harry. Snape stood there, scowling and fingering his whistle. His eyes were narrowed maliciously. Madam Hooch was shaking her head, as if to say, "Nothing like this happens when _I'm_ the referee."

Madam Pomfrey, extremely vexed, shooed most of the students away, force-feeding Pepper-Up Potion to a very dizzy Harry Potter.

"He's going to be fine, now, just—_shoo_!" said Madam Pomfrey, irritated. "Look, he's even got all his own bones, so stop crowding the poor boy!"

"Where's Lockheart when you need 'im?" mumbled a stray Slytherin spitefully, then scurried away to where it was safer to exist as a quasi-evil creature.

Harry Potter rubbed his sore head. "Did I hit the ground, or did the ground hit me?" he asked, his eyes glazing over.

Ginny Weasley squealed and clapped her hands gratefully.

Ron Weasley gave a sigh of relief.

Hermione Granger, on the other hand, frowned angrily.

Fred Weasley watched as she stalked off toward the celebrating Slytherins.

"Oh, dear," said Lavender Brown. "They wouldn't expel her for murdering a Malfoy, would they?"

All eyes turned to Hermione.

Her forehead was furrowed in anger, her slender fingers outstretched furiously, tangling themselves in her robes.

Ron Weasley gulped.

"You should be put to sleep, you conceited, arrogant, self-absorbed, _witless_ ape," said Hermione in a low, dangerous voice.

Startled by Hermione's fury, Crabbe and Goyle turned to look at her and, in the process, dropped Draco Malfoy to the ground.

Draco scowled, got up, brushed off his robes, and smirked.

"And why's that, Mudblood?" he asked collectedly.

He took a brief moment to notice the identical twitch the Weasleys shared before they took a menacing step forward.

Draco cleared his throat quickly. "We—we won fair and square," he said coolly, taking a step back. The Slytherins behind him grunted their agreement, wands pointed.

"If by fair, Mr. Malfoy, you mean going to extreme lengths to endanger a member of the opposing team," said a cold voice, "then by all means, you've won."

Everyone blinked.

Professor Snape stood there, hands clasped behind his back, an ugly frown marring his dark face. "As much as it pains me, I must recognize—however reluctantly—your impermissible, unorthodox methods."

Draco gaped wildly.

Professor McGonagall, who'd only just arrived, blinked and affixed her spectacles. Her mouth was open, and Lee Jordan, who'd stood by her with a disbelieving look, mirrored her befuddled expression.

"Therefore, your points shall pass unto Gryffindor, which, by default, makes them the victors today," continued Snape through gritted teeth, as if his own words were biting back. His nostrils flared angrily as he looked at Malfoy, but Hermione could have _sworn_ she'd seen a cruel, almost gleeful smirk cross his features.

The Slytherins cried out in outrage, but no one noticed.

"Brilliant! Fantastic! Bloody _perfect_!" shouted random Gryffindors happily as Harry Potter was engulfed in a sea of scarlet-clad bodies ("Severus, are you feeling quite all right?" asked Professor McGonagall).

Ginny Weasley hugged Hermione (as Harry was being thrown in the air by Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, and was, as such, unavailable), and even grinned at Ron, who'd been conjuring up very small, very hot goblets of butterbeer. Snuffles, who'd watched the game from a distance, gave a short bark and rocketed downhill.

Hermione Granger hiccuped, trying not to cry. She watched as Harry's Firebolt danced the victory shuffle with Ron's old Cleansweep. Scarlet and gold ribbons twirled and pranced above her, and an occasional Creevey brother bounced high up in the sky.

And then, just as she was getting ready to disappear to the library—

She was being lifted up in the air, too.

"We won!" said George Weasley happily. He spun her around in the air, and Hermione, who wasn't very fond of flying in any form, clung to his neck. Tightly.

"Things are starting to turn around, Hermione," continued George excitedly. He lowered Hermione to the ground, hands still wrapped around her waist. He was breathing hard, his cheeks were glowing a healthy, red color, and his eyes twinkled.

Hermione stared speechlessly. A small, almost orange curl bounced against his forehead.

George grinned at her. "You're not counting my freckles, are you?" he asked.

Hermione flushed. "Er, no."

"Good," said George.

A small frown etched itself onto his forehead, then quickly disappeared.

"In case you can't tell, I'm not Fred," he said, looking slightly unsure of himself.

Hermione frowned angrily. "I can bloody tell the differenc—"

George kissed her.

And kept kissing her.

And kissing her.

Until he ran out of oxygen. Then, he dragged his teeth over his lower lip, and looked Hermione dead in the eye.

"And now you have another way to tell. Without counting freckles," he said seriously, and stormed off to join a whooping Lee Jordan.

Hermione Granger sat down onto the wet grass. Lavender Brown shot her a confused look, then shrugged and gave a great, big—extremely happy—thumbs up.

Hermione's small chin quivered dangerously.


	12. XII

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Author's Note: First off, thanks for sticking around. Second, yes, this story _does_ end at Christmas. (Theirs, not ours, although...)

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Hermione: Please don't make them hate me.

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Author: Spoilsport.

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Hermione: Can't we just skip this chapter and go back to happy?

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Author: Plot.

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Hermione: But—

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Author: No.

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Sunday, October 26th, came straight out of an old Russian postcard.

The grounds were covered with a fluffy layer of snow (well, with the exception of several demolished hills where Hagrid had gone sledding). The lake had turned into an authentic ice rink (the giant squid filed a grievance with the school board, but withdrew once it learned Snape would be its representative). But most importantly, the meadow beyond the Gryffindor tower had metamorphosed into one of the coolest playgrounds Ron Weasley had ever seen.

"I'm telling you, Harry," said Ron heatedly, "it should be an ear for an ear!"

Harry Potter bit into a snowball. "Eye for an eye, Ron."

"What?" asked Ron. A nearby tree woke up with a spectacular yawn, noticed the change in scenery, and promptly shook off excess snow from its branches. Predictably, most of it pelted Harry.

"Doesn't matter," said Ron absentmindedly. "We can't let Malfoy take the House Cup and we certainly can't—Harry—Harry, where are you?"

Harry's gloved hand stuck out, four fingers protruding from the snow. Ron pulled. A passing snowman came to help free Harry.

"I mean, honestly," continued Ron as Harry heaved, "we have to win. How would it look if _Slytherin_ won while _we_ were still here? We'd be reduced to a bloody footnote in the history books, is what! We—Harry, we need to come up with something—something really memorable, wouldn't you say?"

The snowman shrugged.

Harry huffed, choking.

Ron was oblivious. "Maybe we could enchant the snowmen to raid the Slytherin Common Room? Make them take Colin Creevey with them so he can take some incriminating pictures—"

A snowman smacked him. Ron smacked him back. Harry watched, blue in the face. The snowman fell over, crushing Harry back into the snow pile.

"For heaven's sake, can't you two go a day without getting in trouble?" said an exasperated voice.

Harry peeked from underneath the snow, waving for help.

"Hermione!" squeaked Ron, who'd been wrestling with a particularly rowdy snowman. "What're you doing here?"

Hermione scowled at the snowman ("Same to you!" his button-eyes seemed to be saying), then tugged on her mittens.

"I've realized we don't—er, that we don't spend enough time together lately," said Hermione hesitantly.

Ron's eyes widened. The snowman tapped him on the shoulder, demanding attention, but Ron ignored him, keeping his eyes fixed on Hermione. Harry Potter coughed.

"And, er," continued Hermione nervously, "I thought, perhaps—possibly, maybe, perchance—"

"Fred's looking for her—she needs a place to hide out," said Lavender Brown casually, running past Hermione. Promptly, a snowball smacked her upside the head.

"Oh," said Ron.

"That is—not to say I don't enjoy spending time with you!" said Hermione quickly. Ron shook his head, an odd look of resignation flashing across his face. After a moment of awkward silence, a snowball whizzed dangerously close to his head.

Harry snorted loudly, color returning to his face.

Ron looked up, blinking.

Hermione stood not far from him, bouncing snowballs with a friendly smile.

"That was a warning," said Hermione playfully.

Ron grinned, and flung several dripping snowballs her way.

The snowman sighed melodramatically and left to find somebody else to play with.

"You throw like a girl," said Ron Weasley much later, ducking a particularly nasty snowball.

Lavender Brown froze mid-toss, clenched her fists and spun around to face Ron. Hermione backed away, pulling Harry with her.

"A what?" asked Lavender.

Ron blanched. "A... girl?" he said in a tiny voice.

"Oh, you're in for it now, mate," said a passing purple monster.

Lavender Brown smiled ominously. Ron gulped.

"Was that a challenge, _Ronald_?" asked Lavender.

"What? No. I, er, no," sputtered Ron, glancing expectantly at Harry. Harry, for his part, was signaling madly. Ron squinted. Harry made a chopping motion with his hand, and Ron was about to hide behind a protective tree, when he saw something that made him grin triumphantly.

The Weasley twins were sliding down a hill toward them.

"Reinforcements!" screamed Ron, and in an impressive instant, Harry Potter was on his side, armed with a battalion of snowballs.

"There's only two of them," whispered Harry. "It's—it's not fair."

Ron gave him a grin. "Of course not. They still outmatch us."

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"C'mon, ickle Ronniekins," said Fred Weasley happily, "you can do it. Flip her over!"

Ron merely squirmed helplessly.

"Are you quite sure this is licit?" asked Lavender Brown. Ron Weasley was pinned beneath her, mouth stuffed with snow and an occasional small branch.

Hermione Granger nodded, levitating a flurry of snowflakes.

"This is no time to be a gentleman, Ron!" Harry Potter called out. "Pretend it's a troll!"

__

Plop.

Harry disappeared beneath a mound of snow.

"That's not funny, Hermione!" came Harry's muffled protest.

__

Swoosh.

Hermione's coat was gone. Her mittens and shawl were now wrapped around a snowman.

"Fred!" shrieked Hermione furiously.

Fred laughed and pointed at George.

Hermione blushed, but no one noticed.

"Fine," she said calmly. She smacked her wand onto Lavender's palm and rolled up her sleeves.

"Er. You're a _witch_, Hermione," reminded Lavender with a whisper.

Hermione nodded menacingly. "Quite right," she said, "but I think I want to handle this the Muggle way."

Beneath Lavender, Ron cackled.

"What's she doing?" asked Fred.

"I'm not sure," answered George, "but I think we ought to put Harry in front."

Harry ran.

Hermione Granger marched up, fighting a blush, then looked up at George Weasley.

George swallowed.

Fred backed away.

"Hello," said Hermione.

George blinked. "Hi."

And then, George found himself on the ground. He flipped over, but Hermione straddled him, stuffing snow down his back.

"She's a regular bully!" said Ron, awed.

Lavender let him get up, taking notes.

Once George was sufficiently cold, he wriggled away, then tackled Hermione to the ground. Hermione squealed, clawing at the snow.

"_Accio_ _wand_!" yelled Hermione as George tickled the stuffing out of her. Her wand flew to her fingers and—

George flew into a tree. A heavy snow heap dropped atop him.

Lavender gasped, Ron blinked, and Hermione cringed.

But George only laughed. A goofy, quite happy grin spread over his face. Deftly, he shook off the snow, pulled out his wand, mumbled under his breath, and—

"George!" shrieked Lavender Brown, hand over her mouth.

Where only a moment ago stood Hermione Granger, was now a big, fluffy pillow. ("Well, that's _one_ way to get her into your bed," mumbled Fred Weasley with a grin.)

Happily, George ran up, grabbed the pillow, fluffed it up and glanced at Ron.

"She's going to murder you," said Ron, but he was grinning wickedly.

"You do know how to transfigure her back, right?" asked Harry Potter, fighting to keep a straight face.

"Leviosa something," snorted George, playing with the pillow.

"It's Levi-osa, George," grinned Ron.

"No, no," corrected Harry with a snort, "it's Le-viosa."

Lavender Brown just stared at the pillow. "That's a levitation charm, you imbeciles!" she shrieked worriedly.

Harry Potter and the Weasleys laughed. Rather loudly.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," cried Lavender. "How old _are_ you? You should—" the pillow smacked her on the face. Shrieking, she pushed it off and it fell to the ground.

Fred Weasley picked it up, tsking. "I doubt Hermione would appreciate your behavior, Lavender."

With that, he tossed the pillow to Ron, who tossed it to Harry ("Stop!" shouted Lavender desperately), who tossed it to George, who grinned naughtily.

"_Finite_ _Incantatem_!" said George.

__

Poof.

Hermione Granger wobbled, pressed herself against George, then plopped onto the snow. Her face was incredibly red, her hair tousled, and she was trembling.

George stopped grinning.

Hermione said nothing.

She just picked herself up and ran back to the castle.

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"No, see, it's perfectly safe, you see," Fred Weasley was saying.

His wand had paused over the fireplace. Dean Thomas gave him a skeptical glance.

"If we do it right, the fireworks will spell out her name across the Enchanted Ceiling," Fred assured them. "That ought to cheer her up, right?"

Harry Potter looked away.

"Right?" asked Fred uncertainly.

No one answered him.

"A _pillow_?" Lee Jordan shook his head incredulously.

George looked slightly sheepish. "Let me do it," he said, pointing his wand and leaning over the fireplace.

On the other side of the Common Room, Hermione Granger was strangling her blanket. She watched as Neville Longbottom sneak out of the portrait hole, then sunk into her chair.

Ginny Weasley bit her lip. "If I'd been there, I'd—"

"I know," said Hermione, sipping hot chamomile tea. Her face was still pink, her hair still a disheveled mess.

"And I would have—"

"I know."

Ginny Weasley sighed, then forced herself to perk up. "I earned five points in Potions today!"

Hermione blinked, almost dropping her mug.

"I was talking to this Hufflepuff girl," babbled Ginny wildly, "and she was quite intent on making Malfoy—Malfoy!—her boyfriend, and I said—I said Malfoy would never consider dating anyone but Crabbe, and Snape overheard me and he laughed, Hermione, _laughed_!"

Hermione's lips curled.

Ginny sighed with relief.

"And then, I kept talking to this girl, because Snape didn't stop me—imagine that, Hermione!—and then when I reminded her about that bouncing ferret issue, Snape said my potion was 'Satisfactory, Miss Weasley, and though it pains me to overlook your other, _numerous_ shortcomings, I must award five points to Gryffindor' and I just looked at him and didn't dare breathe for the rest of the class because I didn't want him to take them away and—"

Hermione was grinning.

Ginny grinned, too, her mission accomplished.

"Maybe he has a crush on you," said Hermione amusedly.

Ginny rolled her eyes, then spotted something sticking out of Hermione's textbook.

"Eh...? Viktor again?" asked Ginny carefully.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "No. It's, er—from your mum."

Ginny cringed. "Do I want to—"

Absentmindedly, Hermione handed her the letter.

Ginny ripped it open greedily. "Dearest Hermione, blah, blah, blah, I'm so happy for you and Fred," here Ginny laughed madly, "good influence, blah, blah, blah."

Hermione sipped her tea.

Ginny put the letter back into the textbook, then looked sheepish. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

Hermione gave her a confused look. "What for?"

Ginny spread her arms helplessly. "Mum's quite bored, you see. Dad's been holed up in Hogsmeade for a month and—oh my!"

"What?" asked Hermione apprehensively.

"Er... Hermione, your cat—" Ginny pointed her finger, disbelieving.

Hermione turned and squeaked.

There, amidst a small crowd of boys, Crookshanks, the cat, was on fire.

With a shriek, Hermione darted toward her pet.

George Weasley's jaw dropped.

("George, there are a million and one ways to show her you care," said Dean Thomas skittishly. "Setting her cat on fire is not one of them!")

George Weasley winced.

Crookshanks, Hermione's monster cat, meowed loudly and shot up, clutching the curtains. Promptly, the curtains caught fire as well.

"Oh, no," said Ginny Weasley fearfully, "Professor McGonagall _just_ had those replaced! She's going to murder Neville!"

Crookshanks wailed loudly.

Hermione Granger pulled out her wand and chanted frantically. Crookshanks, who was normally quite lazy, plopped down onto the floor, rolled around a few times, then backed into a safe corner, trembling. ("Are we having barbecued cat _again_?" asked Fred Weasley wickedly.)

Harry Potter looked around, rubbing his forehead. His scar itched.

"Quick, before anyone finds out," he said and pulled out his wand. "_Reparo_!"

The curtains magically transformed into a carpet.

"Er..." Ron cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, help me then!" snapped Harry. "We've no more points to lose."

A chorus of "_Reparo_!"s echoed around the room.

Meanwhile, Hermione was kneeling on the floor, trying to coax a smoking Crookshanks out of his hiding place.

Bravely (stupidly, thought Ron), George Weasley went to join her. "Er, Hermione, I really didn't mean to—"

Crookshanks hissed, slashed the air with his claws, then bolted toward the window. In a spectacular show of flexibility, he jumped out and stuck to a tree.

George blinked.

Hermione stood up, and glanced down at George with a murderous look.

George grinned sheepishly.

"You were right," said Hermione scathingly. "Things _are_ starting to turn around."

With a frustrated scowl, she scampered away toward Ron, who'd transfigured the curtains into blinds.

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Moaning Myrtle wasn't used to visitors.

So, it came as a great surprise when one Hermione Granger stormed into her stall on Monday.

Myrtle, who'd been crying and watching her reflection in the toilet bowl, floated above Hermione and watched as she set up her small cauldron.

"What're you making?" asked Myrtle.

"None of your business," grumped Hermione.

"Oh, I see how it is!" moaned Myrtle miserably. "Just because I'm dead and—"

"Polyjuice Potion!" shouted Hermione.

Myrtle grinned and perched above a sink.

"Why're you making it?" she asked, bored.

Hermione paused, seemed to think about it for a moment, then bent over the cauldron without replying.

Moaning Myrtle wailed despondently.

Hermione groaned and tapped the cauldron with her wand to start a nice fire.

Myrtle poked her. "Why?" she asked petulantly.

"Because," replied Hermione.

Myrtle crossed her arms. "Boys."

"What?" Hermione looked up with surprise.

Myrtle whined. "Talk to me about boys."

Hermione gave her a horrified look.

Myrtle hiccuped and circled Hermione. Hermione ignored her. Myrtle made kissy-noises. Hermione ignored her. Myrtle threatened to call Peeves. Hermione ignored her.

"What're you going to use the potion for?" asked Myrtle.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, brushed away a wild lock of hair, then pointed her ladle at Myrtle.

"Listen here," she said in a low, enraged voice, "I don't _want_ to be here, I don't _want_ to be making this potion and I _certainly_ don't want to explain anything to you, so if you wou—"

"So, why're you making it, then?" asked Myrtle, sticking out her tongue.

Hermione frowned, then sighed. "Blackmail," she said, then looked thoughtful. "I think."

"Oh," said Myrtle, pouting.

"Yes."

Myrtle shrugged. "Those are nasty—where's your friend?"

Hermione blinked. "Which—"

The door burst open, practically falling off its hinges.

"I can't believe it!" screamed a flushed Ginny Weasley.

Hermione jumped and dropped her ladle into the toilet. She wrinkled her nose with disgust.

"Well," said Myrtle gleefully, "aren't you going to get that?"

Hermione shot her a glare. "It's your toilet. You get it."

"It's your ladle," replied Myrtle.

"And it's _my_ emotional crisis!" screamed Ginny Weasley. Both Hermione and Myrtle jumped. The ceiling above them creaked ominously. Cobwebs fell to the floor.

"Oh, for Mer—_Accio_ _ladle_!" said Ginny furiously. The ladle rose up, floated through Myrtle (Hermione took notes), then spontaneously combusted. ("Er—I know I died before we reached this part, but is that _supposed_ to happen?" asked Myrtle bewilderedly.)

Hermione's bottom lip quivered.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," grumped Ginny as she watched Hermione mourn her favorite ladle. "Just conjure up a new one."

Hermione obeyed.

"Are we all settled?" asked Ginny impatiently. Moaning Myrtle quickly hid in her toilet, and Hermione Granger reluctantly nodded.

"Good," said Ginny and perched herself upon a sink. Promptly, she jumped off and started pacing.

"So, Ginny," began Hermione cautiously, "what seems to—"

"Harry's taking Padma Patil to the ball!"

Hermione took a step back into the stall and bumped her head.

"Did we know this?" ranted Ginny, trying to pace.

"Er, no," lied Hermione.

"She's lying," sang Myrtle, peeking out of the toilet.

Hermione shut her eyes tightly, and crossed her index fingers, hoping to ward off the infuriated Weasley.

"That doesn't even work on vampires," said Ginny dissuasively, waving an impatient hand. Then she grimaced, her eyebrows twitching, and flung herself at Hermione.

Gingerly, Hermione patted Ginny's back.

"And you know what else?" sniffled Ginny, banging her foot against the cauldron. Her shoelace caught fire.

"Um, what?" asked Hermione distractedly, trying to stomp out Ginny's shoelace.

"I asked Neville to the ball," said Ginny dejectedly.

Hermione blinked wildly. Somewhere in the S-bend, Moaning Myrtle cackled, then choked.

"What? I panicked," mumbled Ginny defensively, banging her elbow on a knob.

"I didn't say anything," said Hermione as Ginny rubbed her elbow.

An invisible cricket chirped somewhere in the distance.

Hermione reluctantly looked at Ginny. "So, er, you're going with Neville—"

"No, I'm _not_!" cried Ginny.

"No?"

"He's already _got_ a date!" wailed Ginny miserably. Myrtle gagged, then laughed so loudly she shot out of the toilet and smacked straight into the large mirror.

"How could he? How?" sniffled Ginny Weasley, a lock of her hair snagging on a nail. "After the letter he wrote me and—"

Hermione suddenly frowned.

Moaning Myrtle peeled herself off the mirror and giggled. "Letter? What letter? Pink and ugly, by chance?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes, but Ginny didn't notice.

"I bet he took it back!" she cried plaintively. "I bet he changed his mind and—I want my letter back!"

Hermione fixed her eyes on Myrtle.

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The Common Room was unusually quiet. With the exception of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley was alone (and quite joyous, for some odd reason). He was bent over his chessboard, rubbing his chin in thought when—

__

Slam!

The portrait hole had opened somewhere in the distance, then closed with a loud bang. Ron would have looked up to see what all the commotion had been about, but his favorite pawn was in danger of being beheaded.

"I've had it, Ron!" snarled a screechy voice, and Ron's chair tottered. The black king quickly covered his ears.

Oblivious, Ron looked up.

Lavender Brown was hovering above him, looking rather mad.

Ron's hand froze midair. The pawn squirmed uncomfortably.

"Had what?" asked Ron cluelessly. The chess pieces paused to watch.

Lavender balled up her little fists, then poked Ron's shoulder. Ron's chair wobbled. Ron quickly gripped the edge of the table.

"I've talked to Professor Trelawney. You. Are. Taking. Me. To. The Ball!" said Lavender Brown dangerously, enunciating every little word. The white queen whooped encouragingly.

Harry Potter stepped aside hastily.

Ron's chair had given in, and Ron was now sprawled across the floor, gaping stupidly.

"I—I am?" he sputtered.

"Yes, you are, and don't think I've forgotten what you said!" Lavender crossed her arms, seething. She stuck out her chin, glaring.

"Er—what—what did I say?" asked Ron, befuddled.

"You know very well what you said!" yelled Lavender bravely, and knelt next to him. Ron extended his hand, waiting for her to help him get up. Lavender ignored him.

She poked his chest maliciously. "You're going to stop pretending you like Hermione because, let me tell you something, mister! I am not now, nor have I ever been, jealous!"

Ron stared, uncomprehending. A white bishop hopped off the board and curiously peeked over the edge of the table.

Lavender Brown stood up, grabbed a random pawn, and knocked out Ron's king.

Harry Potter, wisely, backed away.

Lavender turned her attention back to a bewildered Ron.

"And you better wear something nice!" she said.

With that, she stomped away.

Ron swallowed, sat up and blinked at Harry. "Harry—" he began, but Harry was laughing madly.

Once he'd calmed down enough to grace Ron with his commentary, Harry Potter helped his friend up. He patted Ron's shoulder and said, "I'm really sorry, Ron... she's got what Padma's got, I reckon."

"Yes," replied Ron warily. "A split personality."

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Tuesday, the 28th of October, found George Weasley squirming in his seat.

"Where's Professor Binns?" asked Katie Bell. "The class started _three_ _minutes_ _ago_ and he's still not here!"

The Gryffindors perked up.

"D'you think something happened to him?" asked Katie Bell worriedly.

Lee Jordan snorted. "He's already dead. Not much more can happen to 'im, you know."

Fred sniggered. Lee grinned.

"Maybe Hermione performed that exorcism she was talking about," said George, scribbling nonsense onto his parchment. "Right in time for our exam, too."

"_Exorcism_?" shrieked Katie.

"He's kidding," said Lee quickly, then added, under his breath, "I think."

"Well. I wouldn't put it past her, that's for certain," bragged Fred.

George rolled his eyes.

"No, honestly," Katie was saying, her voice rising in a panicked pitch, "this isn't like Professor Binns at all. Something is horribly wrong."

"Good point," said George, "I mean, here we are, _not_ dying of boredom. The world has probably stopped spinning."

"I say we leave," said Fred haughtily, and stood up. Just as he was about to reach for the door, it swung open.

To his surprise, a small figure stood there, nervously staring up at him.

"Hermione? What are you doing here?" asked Angelina Johnson.

"Oh, my God! I was right!" screamed Katie Bell. "Something _did_ happen to Professor Binns!" ("What are you, in love with him?" mumbled Alicia Spinnet.)

George stood up, as well, rushing toward Hermione. "Hermione, you didn't—"

Hermione looked at him, peculiarly flushed. "What?"

"_You_ _know_," urged George nervously.

Hermione blanched. "What?" Here, a flicker of horror passed through her face. "No! Of course I didn't—"

"Is he badly hurt?" asked Katie anxiously.

Hermione gave her a blank stare.

"I—Professor McGonagall sent me to," here Hermione blushed horribly, "to, er, make sure you've all taken your exams." Off their blank stares, she continued, quickening her pace nervously.

"The _No_ _Cheat_ charms have been placed on your quills and parchments and you really ought to begin—"

"But where's Professor Binns?" asked Katie Bell plaintively.

Hermione kept her face neutral. "It seems someone's, er, pulled a prank of some sort for Halloween. An early prank. All our ghosts are—missing."

The small group of students stared at her.

"Missing?" asked Fred Weasley.

"Yes," said Hermione impatiently. Anxiously, she strolled to where Professor Binns usually sat (floated), and observed the class uncomfortably. "You have 40 minutes," she said in a tiny voice.

The class watched her incredulously.

"39 minutes," said Hermione warily.

"What happened to them?" asked Lee Jordan, ignoring his parchment.

Hermione frowned. "I don't know. But I do know you'll get in trouble if you don't—"

"Do they know who did it?" asked George Weasley.

Hermione shot him a glare that said, 'I'm almost positive it was you.'

George fell silent.

"Is he going to be all right?" wailed Katie Bell.

Hermione groaned.

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"Hey, Hermione," said Fred Weasley after a long period of silence. "What's the answer to number twelve?"

The class looked up hopefully. Every quill paused expectantly.

Hermione sunk into Professor Binns' chair.

"And number fifteen while you're at it!" said Lee Jordan.

Hermione blinked. "There is no number fifteen."

The class fell silent.

Fred nibbled on his quill. "Er, _Professor_ _Granger_," he grinned, "I think I have the wrong exam then."

Hermione sent an emergency owl to McGonagall.

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Surprisingly, George Weasley was the first to hand in his exam. Hermione eyed him warily, trying not to read through his answers.

"It wasn't me," he whispered with a grin.

Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I really don't care, George," she said, and crossed her arms.

George watched her oddly, then smirked. "Yes, you do, Hermione."

There were three bright pink spots spreading over Hermione's cheeks. "You have to read thirty pages for tomorrow. And write an essay on the importance of trade agreements and—"

George frowned, but it was a half-hearted frown. "Who died and made you boss?"

"Um, Professor Binns?" said Hermione slowly.

George hid a smile, and walked away.

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Professor Severus Snape tossed a stack of parchment into the fireplace.

There. He was done. He was homicidal. He hated the upcoming ball.

The door to his office suddenly burst open. Draco Malfoy, pale and giddy, ran into the room.

"Two points from Slytherin for not bothering to knock," said Snape through gritted teeth.

Draco blinked. "Er, sorry, Professor—"

"What do you want?" asked Snape neutrally.

"Er..." Draco thought for a moment, completely thrown off.

"I don't have all day, Mr. Malfoy," reminded Snape waspishly.

Draco snapped to attention. "Yes, Professor—well, I had a thought—"

"Was it lonely?" drawled Snape.

Draco blinked. "Professor?"

"Get on with it."

Draco nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Well, I recently remembered seeing, er, Harry Potter and the Weasel going through a book on advanced spells—"

"Let me guess, Mr. Malfoy," interrupted Snape. "You think Potter and Weasley are responsible for the disappearance of our resident ghosts?"

Draco beamed proudly.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mr. Malfoy, need I remind you you're _not_ supposed to know about that for at least another hour or three?"

Draco flushed.

"How _do_ you know?" asked Snape, narrowing his eyes.

Draco mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?" Snape stood up, towering over Malfoy.

Draco looked up. "I, er... was listening in front of your door when—"

Snape's lips thinned into a furious line. "Spying on your Head of House, Mr. Malfoy?" With a disgusted grimace, Snape shoved Draco out of the room.

"You shall be preparing an Anti-Infatuation Potion during your detention," said Snape before he slammed the door in Malfoy's face.

Draco blinked.

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"Albus, I'm serious," Minerva McGonagall was saying during Wednesday's lunch. "I cannot work with that—that _woman_!"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily. "Why, I always thought you and Sybil would make a becoming couple."

Minerva's eyes widened, then she frowned uncomfortably.

Dumbledore's beard suddenly sported a handsome bouquet of chicken drumsticks.

"Just look at the letter she wrote me," continued Minerva persistently. "Just read it, for Merlin's sake!"

Albus Dumbledore gave her an odd smile.

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On Thursday, Hermione Granger decided to forgive Harry Potter and Ron Weasley for participating in the attempted murder of Crookshanks, the cat (which looked more like a charred monkey).

In turn, both boys promised to show up for the next S-P-E-W meeting.

As Hermione had trouble believing them, the conversation strayed to other topics.

"It's none of our business, Harry," said Hermione Granger for the fourth time. "Let Dumbledore take care of it."

"Of course it's our business," said Ron as they walked along the narrow corridor. "It's always our business."

Hermione sighed. "But it's just a prank—and I'm certain _your_ family is somehow involved."

Ron didn't reply.

Harry Potter tugged on the Invisibility Cloak, trying to keep his elbows and knees tucked in.

"I don't know, Hermione," he said thoughtfully. "This reeks of Slytherin."

"They wouldn't risk it," said Hermione reasonably. "Not when they're in the lead for the House Cup."

"But don't you see, Hermione," said Ron, tugging on the cloak (Harry tugged too, and both were visible for a long second before Hermione covered them both), "that's exactly it. They're going to try to pin it on us."

Hermione frowned and was quiet for a long time.

"Hermione? You all right?" asked Harry worriedly.

Hermione suddenly stopped. Then she spun on her heel and hugged Ron Weasley. Enthusiastically, she kissed him on the cheek. Ron stumbled backwards and the Invisibility Cloak was rendered useless.

"It's quite frightful when _you_ start making sense!" Hermione told Ron, who'd been staring at her like she'd just joined the Quidditch team. And then, she was running down the corridor. "Come on, hurry!"

"Where we headed?" asked Ron, trying to catch up.

Harry shot him an uneasy look. "Nervous breakdown."

Once they skidded to a halt, Ron grimaced. "The _library_, Hermione?"

Hermione beamed. "Yes. Come on, it's not far now," she said, and snuck into the Restricted Section. Effortlessly.

Ron and Harry exchanged glances.

"How's this connected to anything?" asked Ron doubtfully.

Harry shrugged helplessly.

Hermione finally stopped and paused under a crumbly archway. Something was written on it, in a spidery cursive.

Harry squinted. "Nog ardg nipe elsa elk citre ven?"

Ron frowned. "Harry, need I remind you I don't speak Parsletongue?"

Harry shook his head. "That's not Parsletongue. I, er, think it's Latin."

Hermione grinned and shook her head, skimming through book titles.

"Well, I don't speak Latin," said Ron.

"Me neither," replied Harry, grinning.

"Obviously," said Hermione amusedly, "since that's not Latin—aha!"

"What?" asked Ron and Harry simultaneously, craning their necks.

"Found it," said Hermione. Ron and Harry looked over her shoulder. She leafed through the pages, scanning for bold chapter headers.

Ron got bored quickly. Harry stared at the archway, trying to decipher the words.

Finally, Hermione turned to look at them, her eyes sparkling. "We need to talk to your godfather, Harry."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Sirius? Why?"

"Because he knows perfectly well what happened to our ghosts," said Hermione with a mild frown.

Ron looked around. "Filch!"

The trio ran.

And as they ran, Harry asked breathlessly, "Was it Italian?"

Hermione grinned.

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"Tomorrow's Halloween," said Harry, catching his breath. "He'll have to be there."

Hermione frowned. "For an adult, your godfather sure is irresponsible."

Harry gave her a weak smile.

"Password, dear?" said the Fat Lady. "And yes, your godfather sure _is_ irresponsible! He hasn't come to see me in days!"

Harry went brick-red and climbed in as fast as he could.

Once they were out of Fat Lady's earshot, Ron mumbled incoherently. "Can we just look for him tomorrow? I'm too tired to run around tonight."

"I second that," yawned Harry, raising his hand sleepily.

Hermione glared. "This is important. _You_ two wanted to solve this and—"

"Quite right you are, Hermione," grinned Ron tiredly, "but we didn't count on the library."

Harry grinned and together, the two boys stumbled up the stairs and away from Hermione.

Hermione Granger huffed, spun on her heel and came face to face with—

George Weasley.

She narrowed her eyes and, without a word, exited the Common Room.

Fred and Angelina, who were the only ones up this late, snorted.

George shrugged, grabbed his coat and mumbled, "She'll catch a cold," before disappearing after Hermione.

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Hermione Granger climbed the small hill and looked around for any signs of Sirius Black. A random monster waved to her and Hermione moved to a different spot. A creepy sort of silence surrounded her and she'd started back for the tower when—

"Boo!"

Hermione tripped, and plopped face down into the snow.

"Oh, bloody hell!" said a voice, and then, two hands were pulling Hermione up.

George Weasley grinned sheepishly. "Er, you scare easily?" he offered as apology.

Hermione seethed, fumed and was altogether not at all happy. "You—because—and—oh, would you get out of my hair already?" she sputtered.

"I'm not in your hair, Hermione," said George calmly. "I could be," he grinned. "All you need do is ask."

Hermione looked as if she were about to catch fire.

George looked amused.

Hermione's cheeks burned as she brushed off the melting snow. Momentarily lost for words, she simply poked his chest. "It's an idiom, you anarchistic, self-absorbed prat. You'd know that if you actually cracked a book every once in a while," she said nastily.

George Weasley stared at her intensely. His brow furrowed profoundly. "I'd rather be an _anarchistic_ _prat_, as you so eloquently put it, than a conceited, prudish bookworm."

Hermione was livid. "I am _not_ a prude!"

A hint of a smile crossed George's lips. "Please, Hermione, you're such a prude you'd probably refuse to do improper fractions."

Hermione gaped. It took a moment for her to regain her speech proficiency. Then she—quite angrily—crossed her arms and stared at him. "What was that? I couldn't hear you over the sound of your family multiplying quicker than a bloody calculator."

Suddenly, all traces of humor faded from George's face. Hermione noticed. Nervously, she tugged at her mittens, avoiding George's gaze.

George was quiet for a long time.

"I do apologize if being around my family makes you so miserable," he said eventually, kicking the snow around a tree bark. "I suppose mudbloods like you prefer the company of less—"

"What did you want anyway?" interrupted Hermione furiously. She looked ready to cry.

George scoffed humorlessly. "Actually, I wanted to make sure you didn't stay out too long, or froze to death."

Hermione blanched and was tempted to apologize, but—

"Although, I guess offending you was second on my list," finished George.

—so Hermione clenched her fists and said, in a low, icy voice, "I could never be offended by anything you say, George."

George looked at her.

"I'm just grateful you're stringing words into sentences now," finished Hermione.

George glared, shook his head, and walked away.

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"Where's Hermione?" asked Angelina as George came back into the Common Room, throwing his coat and narrowly missing the fireplace.

Fred Weasley cocked his head. A worried look fluttered across his face. "Er, George," he said slowly, "as I recall, you said you don't fancy Hermione."

"I say a lot of things," said George grumpily.

"My point exactly," said Fred with a grin.

George frowned.

Angelina Johnson rolled her eyes. "Neither of you deserves her."

George said nothing.

Fred raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, it's all sibling rivalry, innit?" continued Angelina trenchantly. "You know Ron likes her, so you're trying to—"

"—just like with the teddy bear! I swear, that was the best idea we ever had—I mean, a _spider_!" interrupted Fred, turning to his twin. George smirked in spite of himself.

Angelina threw her hands in the air, gave a disgruntled growl, ran a hand through her hair and shrieked wildly.

Fred froze. "Er, do continue," he said fearfully.

"Continue what?" asked a quiet voice. Hermione Granger (who'd successfully escaped a needy snowman) pulled off her mittens and stuffed them in her pocket. Her eyes were peculiarly glassy, her cheeks a winter-pink, her lips red.

A goofy smile crossed Fred's face.

George merely watched her, almost angrily.

"Nothing," said Angelina Johnson innocently. "Fred here was asking if I thought he stood a chance with Neville Longbottom, and George is having trouble with makeup and such."

Hermione grinned weakly. "Of course he is. Nothing could cover those freckles," she nodded, keeping a straight face.

George glared, the tips of his ears red. "You obsess about our freckles a tad too much, Hermione," he said unpleasantly.

Hermione winced, then quickly returned the glare.

Fred watched curiously.

Hermione was looking slightly distressed. She glanced at her pocket, thought for a moment, then, avoiding anyone's eyes, said in a quiet, chagrined voice, "All right, Fred."

Fred blinked and tilted his head, confused.

George frowned and looked away.

Hermione looked up, squared her shoulders but still didn't meet Fred's eyes. "I said all right. I'll go with you to the ball."

Having been shocked into silence, Fred grinned brilliantly. Lightning-quick, he was there, next to her.

"Of course you will," he said cockily, once he gathered his wits. Casually, he draped an arm around her shoulder.

Hermione flushed and stiffened.

Angelina Johnson squealed. She threw an inquisitive glance at George Weasley, grinned slyly, and pulled Hermione away.

"Now that _that's_ settled, Hermione, you simply _must_ answer a question that's been on _everyone's_ mind lately," she said with fake seriousness (George perked up). "Whatever shall you _wear_?"

"Why wear anything?" asked Fred Weasley, waggling his eyebrows naughtily.

Not unlike Humpty Dumpty, all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Fred back together again.


	13. XIII

****

Author's Note: Erm, yeah. It's been a while. Sorry—bad summer. Also, fanfiction.net's recent censorship? So not stimulating.

If you've stuck around this long, you have my respect.

This is definitely a Fred chapter. He wouldn't shut up. He wants Hermione. And what Fred wants, Fred gets.

Well, kinda. Um.

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Halloween fell on a gloomy Friday.

The enchanted ceiling was foggy and overly depressing; the stone hallways seemed strangely empty without its resident ghosts; and even Dumbledore, the ever-present Headmaster, looked as if he'd rather be somewhere else.

The Slytherin table was oddly subdued, having lost their precious Draco Malfoy to detention (he'd accidentally added a bit too much thyme to his Anti-Infatuation potion and liquefied a few square meters of Snape's cobblestone floors).

The Ravenclaws, who were now in the lead for the House Cup for the first time in decades, were apprehensive and ever so slightly paranoid. Cho Chang developed a habit of glancing around suspiciously and growling at uninvited intruders. The rest of her group, however, decided to simply stuff their faces with pumpkin pies and candied apples.

The Hufflepuffs were engaged in quiet chatter, having reserved a large portion of their table for a tribute to their missing Fat Friar. Rotten fish, laid on handsome silver platters, decorated the table, with cakes burned charcoal black and maggoty haggis littering the area around them. A first-year Hufflepuff girl was wailing desperately over a slab of cheese covered in green mold. Susan Bones wished desperately she were a Gryffindor.

Over at the Gryffindor table, Hermione Granger was wrinkling her little nose. Harry Potter had been rummaging through an orange and black basket, trying to catch an exceptionally speedy chocolate frog. The frog sprang to life once more, aiming for a moody George Weasley. Slightly brooding, George caught the frog with both hands, then squished it violently.

"D'you still want it?" he asked a wide-eyed Harry Potter.

"Er, no, that's okay," said Harry, elbowing Ron under the table.

Ron looked up, sighed, and stuffed some of Lavender Brown's licorice into his mouth.

Lavender Brown, who'd been waiting for Ron to start paying attention, kicked his leg.

"Ow!" scowled Ron. Lavender crossed her arms and stuck out her chin. "Wot was that for?" he asked irritably.

"For being a _boy_," interrupted Ginny Weasley crossly, nodding encouragingly at Lavender. "You're _automatically_ a git."

Lavender huffed, Parvati Patil cleared her throat, and the boys sank deeper into their seats.

Ron bared his teeth and growled at his sister. "What's gotten into you all? Have you gone off your dot?" he paused, looking around. "Why can't you all be more like Hermione? She's the only one not getting her knickers in a bunch, for Merlin's sake!"

Lavender narrowed her eyes, Ginny rolled hers, and Hermione nervously tapped her candy cane to a goblet.

"See? She's not even hogging all the chocolate like you greedy lot are," Ron pointed out.

Lavender's eyes were dark slits.

Hermione sank into her seat.

"Yes, well, chocolate is bad for you," she said meekly, quoting her dentist parents.

Ron's eyes bugged out. "Forget what I said. You're _all_ completely—"

"Female," interrupted George. All eyes turned to him. A miniature pumpkin came out of nowhere, and smacked him upside the head.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What are you saying?"

"I don't think I heard you right—care to repeat it?"

"_Girls_," said Harry Potter, doing his duty as mediator. "Girls! Now, I'm sure George here didn't mean—"

"I meant it, Harry," said George.

"No," said Harry frantically. "No, George, you didn't."

"Harry," mumbled Hermione Granger, sipping her juice, "leave him be. It's quite Freudian, really."

George frowned. "Oh, please, do dazzle us with your infinite knowledge, _Hermione_."

"Well, if you insist," said Hermione through her teeth.

"Oh, I do."

"All right, then."

"All right."

"What are they on about?" whispered Dean Thomas. Seamus Finnigan shrugged helplessly. Harry scratched his forehead (as his scar was itching horribly), then coughed loudly. "Erm, _George_? Where's Fred?"

George stopped bickering with Hermione, and looked at Harry. "How would I know?"

"Well—"

"I'm not my brother's keeper."

"I wasn't implying—"

"Fine!" said George exasperatedly. "I'll go find him." His chair scraped against the floor as he rose and the room paused to watch him stomp away.

"Pass the chocolate," grumbled Hermione once George Weasley was out of sight.

"Um," cowered Dean Thomas, "I thought you said chocolate was bad fo—"

"Shut up."

A collective sigh of frustration passed over the Gryffindor table. After a moment of awkward silence, the room was once again full of chatter. The little bats sleeping above the enchanted ceiling sighed dramatically.

"Boys," grumbled Ginny Weasley a bit later.

"Not all men are annoying, you know," mumbled Katie Bell thoughtfully as Hermione unwrapped another chocolate frog. "Some are Snape." ("What's with you and professors?" mumbled Alicia Spinnet worriedly.)

Hermione grimaced and scooted closer to Ginny Weasley.

Ginny, for her part, was busy staring right through Harry Potter, pretending there was something interesting flying about his hair (hopefully, something that could snap his head right off if need be).

Ron Weasley glared at the candied apples as if they were the source of all evil (which they practically were).

Neville Longbottom—who'd, to everyone's surprise, shown up late—bit his lip and snuck away. He tiptoed around Professor McGonagall, rounded the Gryffindor table (stuffing random candy into his pockets), and headed for a small congregation of Hufflepuffs.

Harry Potter watched him curiously for a while, but was soon distracted.

Padma Patil was looking at him over an enormous pumpkin cake.

"Tch," said an annoyed voice. "Why don't you just go sit there?"

"Why—why would he want to sit there, Ginny?" asked Ron uneasily, glancing at Harry. "There's nothing for Harry over at that table."

Harry nibbled on a candy bar, staring at the orange tablecloth with interest, his ears flushed.

"Oh," said Ginny airily, "silly me for thinking he'd want to go entertain his future wife."

Harry choked on a peanut. "My what?"

"Er—I think I'm going to go—er, see if—" said Hermione quickly as she stood up, "—never mind. _I'm_ not the one that needs an excuse."

Ron glanced at a hastily retreating Hermione, then a seething Ginny, then Harry, then at the empty places where his brothers should've been. Forgetting to glance at Lavender Brown, he stood up and followed Hermione. Lavender's left eye twitched. Parvati downed her pumpkin juice nervously.

"Hey, Hermione, wait up!" shouted Ron.

Hermione stopped and turned to look at him.

"Have you found Sirius?" she asked, clearing her throat.

Ron gave her an awkward look. "No. Er, he's missing, too."

"He would be, wouldn't he," mumbled Hermione suspiciously, eyeing Ron.

Ron squirmed.

"What?" he asked uneasily.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Nothing."

They walked together for a few minutes, in complete silence.

"I have to go check on my potion," said Hermione suddenly. Ron quirked an eyebrow. "The one your brothers are forcing me to make?" she continued.

Ron shrugged and glared straight ahead as they descended the stairs toward the dungeons. "Yes, well, you're not resisting much, are you?"

Stunned, Hermione stopped. "What're you on about?"

Ron shrugged again. "You know perfectly well."

"I don't believe I do, _Ron_."

"I believe you do, _Hermione_."

"I can assure you, I don't, _Ron_."

A chilly breeze drifted past them. The dungeons seemed even more dismal than usual. Just as Ron was getting ready to reply, a dark shadow slithered past them.

"Ten points from Gryffindor!" it mumbled frantically.

"Wot for?" groused Ron.

The shadow stopped, spun around and loomed over him.

"_Because_, Mr. Weasley," said Professor Snape, less eloquently than usual. Without a further comment, he slunk away, muttering something about unsatisfactory draperies and overindulged wizard bands.

Once she could form a coherent sentence, Hermione looked pointedly at Ron, then said, in a quiet, resigned voice, "I'm only going with Fred because he _asked_."

Ron scowled nastily.

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Minerva McGonagall was nibbling on a particularly sticky candy apple.

She'd been going over a few specific equations in her mind, when Albus Dumbledore tapped her shoulder. She looked up, apple still stuck in her mouth, and was greeted with an eerie sight.

Sybil Trelawney stood before her, arms outstretched, tiny glittering beads floating around her.

Now, Professor McGonagall was no fool—she knew Hogwarts' rule about disapparating, and knew she couldn't possibly escape without seeming quite mad. Naturally, this didn't stop her from trying. Wildly, she looked left and right, up and down, forward and back, for a convenient exit. Finding none, she sighed, glared daggers at a beaming Dumbledore, then faced Professor Trelawney.

"Happy Halloween, Minerva," said Sybil in a haunted tone of voice. Minerva shuddered. Dumbledore all but tittered.

"Yes, yes, happy Halloween," she replied halfheartedly, slumping into her seat, hiding behind Dumbledore's shoulder.

"So," said Sybil as she sat down between Dumbledore and Professor Sprout. "Minerva, did you, by chance, have a moment to read through my proposal?"

Minerva McGonagall choked.

Professor Sprout raised a curious eyebrow.

Dumbledore gave a mirthful chuckle. "_I've_ read it, Sybil," he said. "I think it's a _splendid_ idea."

Trelawney beamed. Minerva gripped her fork tightly, poised to poke Dumbledore.

"Yes," said Trelawney disdainfully, "I am quite proud of the concept."

"You should be," replied Dumbledore. "It is quite innovative."

"Oh, you flatter me, Albus," smiled Professor Trelawney as Minerva McGonagall reached for her wand. "The foundation's been around for centuries. It all makes a lot of sense, naturally."

"What does?" asked tiny Professor Flitwick.

Albus Dumbledore smiled into his goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Oh, I do not wish to be in the spotlight by myself," said Trelawney with fake modesty. "I'll let Minerva explain."

"I, yes, well," said Minerva, "must go now."

Without an additional excuse, Professor McGonagall made her way (quickly, very quickly) out of the hall.

Professor Trelawney wore an utterly confused expression. "I merely wished for our second-year classes to take a short excursion together in April. It will be quite beneficent, you see," she explained to a befuddled Professor Sprout. "I've only wanted to—I—I haven't said something wrong, have I?"

Albus Dumbledore arranged his face into an innocent expression.

"Why, Sybil, not at all."

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Draco Malfoy wasn't an expert sweeper.

So, it came as a shock when Professor Snape locked away Draco's wand and stuck a nasty broom into his fragile little hands ("And don't think you've gotten out of making that Anti-Infatuation potion either, Mr. Malfoy"). Draco had stared at it for a few minutes, then called for backup.

"Why d'_we_ have to be here?" whined Crabbe, on his hands and knees, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn spot on the floor.

Draco hissed.

Crabbe fell silent, scrubbing harder.

The classroom had been repaired, but intentionally left dirty. Draco watched Goyle sweep some dust under the table, then tossed his ingredients into a small cauldron. Pansy Parkinson (who hadn't quite been invited to this little soirée) sighed spectacularly.

"It's that _Potter_'s fault," she said. "Again."

"_And_ his little mudblood's," added Draco, scrunching up his face.

Goyle and Crabbe exchanged tired glances.

"Yes, hers, too!" shrieked Pansy. "And the Weasel's."

"The whole weasel family," said Draco, deep in thought. He shook his ladle at the empty air. "We should do something."

Goyle sighed in defeat.

"As if we aren't already working on that," mumbled Crabbe under his breath.

Draco pretended not to hear. "But _what_?" he asked, rubbing his chin.

"Well," said Pansy politely, "since _we_'re missing Halloween—"

"—they should, too," finished Draco evilly. Crabbe and Goyle clapped unenthusiastically. Draco stirred his Anti-Infatuation potion maniacally, then slammed the ladle against the cauldron. "I've got it!"

"Awroit," sighed Crabbe. "I'll go get me wand."

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Fred Weasley had been exploring the dungeons.

He hadn't had a specific reason (aside from trying to avoid Gryffindors' Chasers—Angelina, Katie, and Alicia—who lately seemed more like bloodthirsty Beaters). Happily, he'd added another secret corridor to his little map, when—

"We got one!" someone shrieked as the ground under Fred rumbled, shook, and finally opened. A human-sized hole swallowed him up, and he landed (none too gracefully) onto his behind.

"Who is it?" asked another voice. Fred looked up, but couldn't see past the spider webs and old empty barrels.

"I think it's one of the weasels."

"Oi. Which _one_?"

"Erm. The one with red hair."

The next thing Fred heard was a frustrated shriek and then nothing. The opening above him closed, and the voices were gone.

Fred shrugged.

"At least I stocked up on candy," he said to a little white mouse that was looking at him strangely.

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Hermione Granger was stalking through the dungeons.

She'd checked on her potion very quickly (Moaning Myrtle had wanted to _talk_), and was considering just going to bed, when she heard muffled giggling.

Now, as Hermione was a true Gryffindor, she bravely (well, stupidly) went in search of the voices. She crept alongside a long cold wall and hoped it wasn't a drunk troll.

"One down... erm, many more to go," said a familiar voice.

Hermione drew her wand.

"We'll never get _all_ of them down there," whined another familiar voice.

"Also, what happens when they get out? I don't want to lose more points."

"Oh, button it, you pillock, we—"

"Shh. I hear something."

"What?"

"I don't know. Perhaps if you actually shut—"

"Naff off, you—"

"QUIET!"

"Eep, it's Herm—"

And then, just as Hermione rounded the corner, the ground below her opened up.

"Two down!"

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Fred Weasley had been playing with a tiny little mouse when something dropped beside him.

He blinked.

A small brown bump slowly stretched into Hermione Granger, who looked confused and angry. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes glassy, and her hair was flying in every direction. Fred grinned.

"What's a smart girl like you doing in a place like this?" he asked, amused.

Hermione groaned, then straightened up awkwardly. "Stupid Malfoy," she offered as an excuse.

A spider rolled its eyes.

"Are you sure you didn't just want to spend some time alone with me?" asked Fred. Promptly, he had to duck.

Hermione cleared her throat, dusted off her robes, then sat on an old piece of wood. "Where are we?"

"Hogwarts?" answered Fred.

Hermione glared. "More specifically...?"

"Underneath Hogwarts, I reckon. Wine cellar or something."

Hermione gave him an incredulous look. "Have you tried to find an exit?"

"Well, I found some candy. That's close enough."

Hermione closed her eyes, counted to ten, then exhaled.

"Oh, don't worry. They're bound to notice us missing sooner or later," said Fred collectedly. "Unless they assume we've eloped together." A grin spread over his lips.

Hermione flushed every shade of red. "You, er, missed class this morning," she said uncomfortably, trying to change the topic.

Fred grinned, shoved his hands into his pockets, and slid to the floor. "Er, no," he said. "I _was_ absent, mind you, but I didn't miss it."

Hermione scowled. "How splendid," she mumbled, scooting away. Fred raised an eyebrow, shrugged to himself, inched closer, then draped an arm over Hermione. "Green dress, I take it?"

Hermione blinked. "Pardon?"

"Oh, Hermione," said Fred airily, "haven't we already decided you look just fine in green? Remember the glue, the infirmary, the upcoming dance?"

"Fred," said Hermione with less patience, "perhaps we shouldn't discuss such trivial matters while we're _trapped_ _underneath_ _Hogwarts_."

A tiny smirk tugged Fred's lips upwards. "Just admit it, then."

Hermione swallowed. "Er—admit what?"

"You know perfectly well, Miss Granger," grinned Fred, scooting even closer.

Hermione paled.

"I don't know anything, Fred," she said, stiffening as Fred ran a hand through her hair.

"Come now, Hermione," Fred all but cackled. "It's all right, you know. I _know_. I read your le—"

"Fred!" shouted Hermione, her feet kicking his ankles. "I've no idea what you're getting at." She curled up in a dark corner.

Fred frowned. His head tilted as he pondered. Then, slowly, almost apologetically, he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Er, Hermione?"

"What?" mumbled Hermione sulkily.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes."

"Then admit it," said Fred, an evil gleam twinkling in his eyes. "You like me."

Hermione opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her eyes widened and practically glazed over.

"You want my body," he continued, amused.

Flushed, Hermione mumbled. "To dissect it, perhaps."

Fred perked up considerably. "Oh, my," he exclaimed. "I'm actually getting to you."

"What?"

"The Great Hermione Granger," said Fred with wonder, "is _letting_ me have the upper hand."

Flustered, Hermione wondered whether she'd done something horrible in a past life. Like murdered a redheaded pest. Or several of them. "I sincerely doubt it's possible for you to get the upper hand without getting an aneurysm, Fred."

"Oh, dear. Big words," said Fred, poking Hermione's cheek affectionately. "I must have struck a cord."

"You struck nothing," replied Hermione, swatting his hand away.

"Except a cord."

"Nothing!"

"Except—"

"Oh, do shut up!"

"I don't know, Hermione," said Fred with mock concern, "I think you like hearing me talk."

"I most certainly do not!" shouted Hermione, jumping to her feet. Fred stood up, as well. The mice on the wooden plank above them exchanged glances and ran as quickly as their little feet could carry them.

"You do, too," mumbled Fred, smirking and invading Hermione personal space.

"Do not, you torpid ape!"

"Torpid?"

And before Hermione Granger had a chance to reevaluate, her wand was out and pointed at Fred's mouth.

"_Pacifico_!" she shrieked, and promptly, his lips closed, as if an invisible zipper had stitched them together.

Stunned, he backpedaled, wildly groping at the empty air. His red curls fell over his eyes and, completely thrown off balance, Fred toppled over. He landed on his behind, and then, looking incredulous, glanced up at Hermione.

Hermione, caught between amusement, shock, and anger, smiled sheepishly, then tapped his lips with her wand. "_Finite_ _Incantatem_."

Fred Weasley jumped up, rubbing his face frantically. When he could finally open his mouth again, the first thing he said was, "You hexed me!"

Cheeks pink, Hermione backed away. "Er... just a little."

"You!" sputtered Fred. "You're not allowed to hex me!"

"Am, too," said Hermione defensively.

"Are not!" said Fred, stalking towards her.

"Please," mumbled Hermione, "since when are _you_ an expert on rules?"

Fred stopped, cocked his head, then grinned brilliantly.

Hermione flushed and backed into a corner. The tiny little mouse that was playing there shook its head and scurried away with a sigh.

Fred's face was half hidden by shadows, and Hermione didn't particularly like the side she _could_ see. He was smiling playfully, and twiddling his thumbs.

"I'm bored, Hermione," he said. "I'm not pleasant when I'm bored."

"You're not pleasant, period," she muttered under her breath.

"You _really_ like me," he mumbled.

"What?"

Fred leaned in closer, making a show of examining Hermione's features. "You do. Hmm. That's excellent. I'd hate to be married to you otherwise."

Hermione wondered if Snape managed to slip the entire Gryffindor House some very special narcotics. Then she blinked. And _then_ she remembered those silly letters Mrs. Weasley kept sending her (My Dearest Hermione! Congratulations!). "What?"

"Married, you know, as in when you graduate. Mother wants a summer wedding. How's July three years from now for you?"

Hermione paled, ready to point the wand at herself. "You can't be serious."

"I rarely am," beamed Fred proudly. "But honestly, Hermione. It's either me or George," he paused, "or Ron, I suppose, but I don't think you quite fancy him."

Hermione Granger stared speechlessly. A tiny little mouse tittered, then hid inside a slab of moldy cheese.

"Of course, there's always Percy, but as it happens, he's markedly married to the Ministry," continued Fred, deep in thought. "Unless you've a peculiar liking for curse-breakers or dragon-tamers, I don't think you'd get along very well with Bill or Charlie."

Hermione sat back down.

"Ergo, I nominate myself," grinned Fred.

Hermione looked up.

"Slim chance," she muttered to herself.

"What?" asked Fred, sitting down next to her. "I'm having difficulties hearing you over the sound of all this sexual tension."

Hermione flushed. "Scratch that, Fred," she mumbled. "Your chances are not so much slim as they are anorexic."

Fred snickered. "You'll make an excellent Weasley."

Hermione thumped her head against the wall as Fred continued to grin madly.

Eventually, when her head started smarting too much, she opened her eyes. Fred was watching her, amused beyond words. Hermione narrowed her eyes, tilted her head, then relaxed.

"You were _joking_, weren't you?"

Fred grinned. "Of course."

Hermione gripped her wand tighter.

"However," said Fred casually, "since we _are_ going together, I suppose I ought to get you something for Christmas. What d'you want?"

"A lobotomy," sighed Hermione.

.

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Ron Weasley was hungry.

He'd been waiting under Sir Cadogan's portrait for well over an hour. Sir Cadogan, for his part, was leaning against his fat gray pony, reciting Shakespeare. Ron covered his ears and hummed loudly. Sir Cadogan huffed and recited louder. Ron hummed even more meretriciously. The tiny knight challenged him to a duel. And just as Ron was getting ready to set the painting on fire, a shaggy black dog padded toward him.

Ron scowled, Sir Cadogan sighed with relief, and the tiny gray pony whinnied triumphantly.

"I think Hermione knows," said Ron cautiously.

The dog tilted its head and perked up its ears.

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Deep within the thick dungeon walls, in a small, dreary office, Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin, was slowly going crazy.

"Fifty Galleons per performance?" he muttered into his cauldron. "Preposterous."

"Take it or leave it, Snape," said a floating head.

"I believe I shall leave it," said Snape acidly as he spun around to face the fireplace.

"But, Snape!" whined the head. "That's a 50% discount. Don't be a git. I hear Durmstrang is having a ball as well, and they're _scouting_, you know. I'd hate to see you lose to that Bulgarian twit."

Snape wrinkled his hooked nose, tossing powdered mistletoe into the boiling cauldron.

"Oh, all right, fine!" said the head exasperatedly. "I'll throw in an additional song, for no extra charge."

Snape smirked, stirring the potion coolly.

The head growled. "Fine! Christmas decorations?"

Snape's head jerked up imperceptibly. "Go on."

The floating head sighed. "I think I'm starting to understand why Dumbledore put you in charge. All right. How's about I take care of _everything_, then? For a nominal fee, of course."

Snape quirked an eyebrow. "Nominal indeed." An almost festive grin spread across his lips.

Soon, he would be utterly free.

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"Oh, for heaven's sake!" said Lee Jordan. "Just try it. George is thinking of naming it _Halloween_ _Surprise_."

Fred Weasley, who'd been rescued mere hours ago, eyed the goblet Lee was holding.

"Yes," said George with a grin, "after all, you've just spent an hour locked with _Hermione_ _Granger_." Here, he frowned. "You deserve a little bit of fun after such a horrid experience."

Fred only smiled a lopsided grin.

Lee rolled his eyes. "Listen, will you try it or not? Halloween ends in," here, Lee glanced at the giant grandfather clock on the wall ("What are you waiting for?" it said), "one hour."

Fred shrugged, his cheeks nice and rosy, and wrapped his fingers around the goblet. George and Lee watched him warily. Fred sniffed, brought his lips to the goblet and drank.

"Tastes like cherries," he shrugged his shoulders. George and Lee exchanged disappointed glances. Fred smacked his lips coolly, then patted George on the back. "It's all right. I'm certain you'll succeed next time. Not _all_ of us can do it in one try and—"

Fred Weasley paused, closed his mouth, then hiccuped. Lee Jordan grinned.

Fred put a hand to his mouth as the hair on the back of his neck stood up. His throat was burning, his forehead was hot, and even his freckles looked about ready to melt. "Wot—wot's in this thing?"

George looked slightly sheepish while Lee Jordan grinned wickedly. "Weren't you listening, Fred? It's a Halloween _surprise_."

Fred stumbled, his eyes glazing over with delight.

"Of course, in my day—" snickered George Weasley happily, "—we called it rum."

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Hermione Granger had decided to go to bed early.

She was tired and sore and her cheeks were particularly pink ("They've caught her with one of those silly Weasleys again!"). Lavender Brown hadn't been inclined to talk to her ("How many more points are you planning to lose?"), and she wanted nothing more than to forget everything. The mirror opposite her bed agreed.

And as the minutes ticked into November 1st, a strange rustling jostled her awake. She rubbed her eyes sleepily, then drew apart her velvety curtains. A tall, dark silhouette stood there, and just as Hermione was about to scream, the shadows shifted. Hermione blinked.

"Er, Fred?"

"Hermione!" Fred Weasley swayed. "What are you doing in my room?"

Hermione looked around. "Um, Fred—"

"Iss okay," he slurred. "Listen, I've got sumthin' to tell you."

"Er, all right."

"Yes," said Fred, smiling happily.

Hermione waited. And waited. Then waited some more.

"Yes, Fred?" she asked eventually.

Fred squinted at her. "Hermione!"

Hermione mumbled under her breath. "You wanted to tell me something, Fred, remember?"

"Of course I 'member you, Hermmmmione," said Fred, practically giggling. "Wot d'you want to tell me?"

"No, Fred, you came into _my_ room and—"

"We're in _your_ _room_?" asked Fred in awe, looking around. Grinning, he stumbled toward Hermione. "Does Harry know?"

Hermione sighed exasperatedly, "Does Harry know what?"

Fred plopped on the bed, and shook his head at Hermione as if she were insane. "I lost your letter, y'know," he said into Hermione's pillow. Hermione frowned.

"What? Fred, what letter? Fred?"

Fred snuggled into her blanket. "Iss a big secret."

Hermione frowned in concentration. She poked Fred's shoulder and he giggled. Then, he rolled over and smacked Hermione's knee. "Oh, wot the 'ell—I like you, too, Hermmmmione."

Hermione rubbed her temples, then fought the blush making its way across her face and neck. "Fred, did you have anything to drink tonight?"

Fred yawned. "I'm not thirsty."

"No, Fred—" said Hermione, then stopped. A small, quasi-evil smile curled her lips upwards. "Fred?"

"Mh hmm?"

"Could you sign something for me?"

"Shure."

Lightning-speed fast, Hermione dashed across the room, grabbed her quill, and scribbled a few long lines onto a yellowed parchment. When she returned, Fred Weasley was lightly snoring, so she nudged him awake.

"Hermione!" he slurred. "Won't McGoonie-prunie be upshet if she finds you in my bed?"

Hermione coughed awkwardly, then thrust the parchment and quill at him.

Fred eyed the piece of parchment dubiously. "Wot is it?"

"Oh, urm, nothing," lied Hermione.

Fred shrugged happily. He positioned the quill next to the tiny, black X, then paused. "Give us a kiss, then."

Hermione blinked.

"Iss all right, they all know. Even Dobby approvessss. Well, _Winky_'s shomewot upset," continued Fred, doodling random caricatures on Hermione's parchment. He extended his arm and poked Hermione's cheek with the quill, then tapped his own.

Brick-red, Hermione straightened. "All right, Fred, but, er—sign first."

Fred grinned, signed, then chucked the parchment to the floor. Hermione eyed it warily, then glanced at a smiling Fred.

"A deal's a deal," grinned Fred, eyebrows raised, arms outstretched.

Hermione bit her lip, glanced at the door, then, resigned, lowered her head, intent on a quick peck on the cheek (or possibly forehead), when—

"MISS GRANGER!"

"Oh-uh," giggled Fred Weasley drunkenly.

Hermione thought of asking for another time-turner.

Professor McGonagall stood in the doorway seething, flanked on each side by Hermione's shocked roommates.

"Eep!" was all Lavender Brown could manage.

Professor McGonagall, however, wasn't as inarticulate.

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****

McGonagall: I must object to this.

****

Hermione: Please, Professor. At least it's not Professor Lupin this time.

****

McGonagall: ...quite right, Miss Granger. I apologize.

****

Hermione: No need, Professor. It can only get worse.

****

McGonagall: I—I wonder whether it is too late to apply for Head of Hufflepuff.

****

Hermione: Take me with you.


End file.
